


Some girls are built for speed

by maryangel



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryangel/pseuds/maryangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you <a href="http://tempore.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://tempore.livejournal.com/"><b>tempore</b></a> for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Some girls are built for speed

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [](http://tempore.livejournal.com/profile)[**tempore**](http://tempore.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

“Vicky TNT broke her clavicle,” Jamia says as she slumps over the counter. She slides down to sit at Frank’s feet, searching her pockets; maybe for a pack of cigarettes, even though smoking is obviously prohibited in the store.

It’s Sunday afternoon and Frank is working the one hour photo counter today.

It’s an alright job because it’s quiet and Frank doesn’t have to deal with that many customers. Besides, it’s just for the day. Tomorrow, he’s switching to re-stocking. It really could be worse. He could be stuck working produce like Ray or at the frozen meat section like Bob. At least, Frank doesn’t have to stare at dead animal carcasses for the remaining of his shift so he can’t really complain.

Jamia grabs Frank’s ankle and asks, “Did you hear what I just said, Frankie?” She’s holding a pack of Camels in her hand, offering it to Frank.

“Yeah. Sucks, Frank mumbles before shaking his head. He can’t take a smoke break right now. His manager is probably hiding somewhere, watching him.

It’s not the first time one of Jamia’s team mates sustains a serious injury during a bout and it probably won’t be the last either.

Roller Derby is a contact sport. Jamia keeps repeating this every time she gets a new bruise and Frank makes the mistake of telling her how worried he is for her safety.

Vicky TNT was kind of a jerk to Frank so it’s not like he gives a shit about her clavicle or any other part of her anatomy for that matter. She called him a midget that one time and he never really got over it. Frank can hold a grudge longer than anyone. Maybe he’ll forgive her in a year or two, if she ever apologizes.

“You have no idea how much it sucks, honey. She was our best jammer and without her, we’re pretty much screwed.”

“You’re an excellent jammer. You and that girl Nancy Drewblood you just got on the team.”

Nancy Drewblood is actually not that great but she’s still better than most of Jamia’s team mates. It’s probably one of the main reasons why the Belleville Crash Queens are among the bottom five Roller Derby leagues in the Tri State area. Although, Frank still thinks it’s not really their fault. They have a lot of untapped potential but there’s definitely something wrong with their current coaching situation.

S’Uzi is a good skater and captain but a terrible trainer. She’s shit at strategy and uses the same set of plays over and over.

The last bout the Crash Queens won was maybe two months ago, and it was mainly due to a couple of the girls in the opposite team getting injured early during the first quarter. If there’s one thing the Crash Queens are best at though, it’s how rough they play. No other team in Jersey can beat them at that.

“Thanks, but I’m fucking useless if you put me next to a Lyn Zoid or a Greta Grab’o. Those girls can fucking skate.”

“I thought Greta quit because she got knocked up by her boyfriend?” Frank asks just as Bob appears in his line of vision at the end of the canned foods aisle.

He’s not even being stealthy about his stalking anymore. He’s glancing at Frank, pointing his chin at the counter and making wide hand gestures, probably to ask if Jamia is still here. This is getting ridiculous.

Frank nods at him and Bob ducks behind a pile of canned tomatoes.

“She did, but she won’t be pregnant forever,” she replies with a deep sigh, poking at a small bruise on her chin. “Unless you want to take one for the team and make sure she stays pregnant.”

“No thanks. She doesn’t have what I’m looking for in a woman,” Frank says with a crooked grin.

“A penis? Yeah. That can be a problem.” Jamia laughs and buries her face between her knees. “I guess we’re just gonna have to find a new girl soon. You know how much I hate scrimmage. It always ends in tears and the blood of a virgin. Most of the girls aren’t tough enough to handle a broken nose on their first bout.”

Frank wishes he could offer Jamia some comfort and tell her it will all be okay but she’s right. If they do find a new girl to replace TNT, chances are that she won’t be good enough by the next bout, if at all.

“Are you guys meeting up somewhere tonight?” Frank asks as he pats Jamia’s shoulder and hands her a Reese’s peanut butter cup he was keeping for himself for her trouble.

“There’s a house party in Belleville. That place near the high school? As usual, skaters drink free but I could probably get you free beer if you wanted.”

Frank knows of the place. He picked up Jamia from that scary looking house a couple of times when she got too drunk to drive her ass back to Butler. Maybe he could make an effort this time and actually party there with her. It’s not like he has better plans for the night.

“I’ll swing by after work,” he says just as Frank’s manager – _fucking Gary_ – walks past the counter and gives Frank a suspicious glare.

Frank grins at him and pretends he’s busy sorting out orders. He flips Gary off as soon as his back is turned though. _Fucking asshole._

“Sorry, I needed to rant about this shit. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss because of me and my roller derby shit.”

“You can rant at me any time,” he says, smiling down at her. “Besides, you know I love derby.”

Frank has been to every one of Jamia’s bouts and not only to show his best friend his support. He loves everything about it.

It’s not even about the scantily dressed girls and the way they shove each other around. None of them are really Frank’s type anyway. It’s just that sometimes Frank is sad that he’ll never be part of it. He’s forever condemned to be a derby widower, sharing the life of a roller derby girl.

Frank thought about joining that one co-ed league they have in South Jersey but it’s too far of a drive and his car is a piece of shit. Besides, it’s not really the same if his best friend isn’t on the track with him.

The funny thing is that Frank doesn’t need to be _on_ the team to feel part of it. He likes the roller derby girls and the roller derby girls like him.

One time, Marcy-Xterminator from the Newark’s Blondie Assassins joked about Frank being the team’s ugly mascot and the entire roster of the Crash Queens came down on her during the bout just to defend Frank’s honor. It was pretty damn awesome.

Jamia scrambles up to her feet and gives Frank a peck on the cheek. “I better go before Gary Ratface sees me.” She shoves the peanut butter cup in her mouth and heads out of the store, waving the back of her hand at Frank.

Bob waits until the automatic doors close behind her before he decides to approach the one hour photo counter. He plants himself in front of Frank and asks, “Was that Jamia?” He cranes his neck to look out into the parking lot.

“That’s a stupid question. You know it was her.”

“Is she okay? I mean. Is she?”

“She’s fine. Why don’t you stop being an idiot and ask her out?”

Bob’s shoulders drop as he leans against the counter. “I would but—“

“Come on, Bob. Grow a pair,” Frank interrupts him, grabbing Bob’s shoulder and tugging on his shirt.

That thing with Bob was entertaining to watch for maybe a week or two. Then witnessing his struggle to talk to her started getting a little too ridiculous.

Frank just wishes he could help Bob get over her or at least, make a fucking move.

He gets it though. Jamia can be a pretty intimidating chick when you don’t know her. She looks tough and unapproachable from a distance. Frank might be the only one to know she’s really the sweetest, most caring girl on the inside but that’s because he’s known her all his life, or so it feels.

“I think it’s time we took the training wheels off, dude. Just talk to her. She won’t bite your face off.”

“Didn’t you say she’s dating that douchebag?” Bob asks, slapping Frank’s hand off his shoulder.

“I never said he was a douchebag. That’s your own interpretation, dude. And either way, they’re not married.”

Bob grumbles something about douchebags and waves at Frank dismissively. “Don’t fucking need anyone’s help.”

“Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, Boborino.”

“Asshole.”

“Jerkface.”

“Cock sucker.”

“Turd sandwich.”

Frank bursts out laughing. He loves being a little shit to Bob more than he should and it’s just too easy to piss him off. It always makes his shifts at work much more entertaining.

“Micro penis,” Bob says with a smug look on his face.

“Who has a micro penis?” Ray asks as he joins Bob on the other side of the one hour photo counter. He’s eating an apple with a face on it which he probably stole from the produce section (Frank enjoys drawing on fruits on his spare time so that’s probably one of his creations). Hopefully, Gary is too busy being on someone else’s case to notice Ray’s lack of professionalism.

“Bob,” Frank replies quickly.

Ray rolls his eyes at Frank and says, “Sorry to hear that, man, but I don’t think Gary wants us to talk about our penises in front of the customers.”

Frank looks around and shrugs. “What customers?”

*

Even though he is exhausted from his late shift, Frank still makes it to the house party. After all, he promised Jamia and she might kick his ass if he pussies out on her once again.

Her entire team is here tonight, except for Vicky TNT and her broken clavicle. _Karma is a bitch._

There’s a keg and a guy dressed up as Batman running around the house, stealing everyone’s cigarettes and drinking from everyone’s cup. At least, no one is fighting yet, which could be a good sign. Or maybe just the calm before the storm.

Frank can’t find Jamia right away but she’s probably with her team mates in the back yard, planning the demise of their next opponents, the girls from Mahwah and their stupid team name that Frank can’t remember. It has something to do with bees or wasps.

What Frank does find when he walks into the crowded living room is a very cute guy in a leather jacket and a pair of tight pants, standing in a corner and looking at his watch every two minutes. He looks a little out of place, like he doesn’t know anyone here. He looks up and his eyes meet Frank’s for a moment.

Frank doesn’t want to appear to be staring even though it’s exactly what he’s doing, so he just gives the guy a smile and ducks his head. He stares into his beer cup for a few seconds and then looks up again.

Cute guy’s eyes are still locked in on him. He smiles at Frank and bites his bottom lip

Frank scans the room and downs his beer. He’s going to talk to this guy and then possibly make out with him on the couch by the end of the night.

Just as Frank is about to make his move, Jamia appears right in the middle of Frank’s path and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

She plants a kiss on his cheek and slurs, “Jenny’s little brother is here and I think he could be your type.”

Frank manages to get a glimpse of the cute guy over Jamia’s shoulder. He’s not looking at Frank anymore but is talking to the guy in the Batman costume, looking very intent.

 _Great._ Frank has just been cock-blocked by his best friend and by fucking Batman himself. That’s a new one.

“Join us in the backyard, Frankie. We have cute guys and beer,” Jamia says, her breath reeking of alcohol.

It’s obvious that Jamia is very drunk at this point. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused as she gives Frank another kiss, her lipstick smearing over Frank’s cheek.

Drunken Jamia can be hilarious in small doses. She’s the kind of drunk that does keg stands and plays beer pong if someone challenges her. She’s also the kind of drunk that can start a fight about the most random things, like a girl looking at her funny or someone taking too long in the bathroom.

Since that incident in Clifton back in November where she nearly bit a girl’s finger off, Jamia isn’t allowed to drink more than a six pack. She signed a piece of paper and everything, and they had Ray be the witness.

This is clearly a breach of contract but Frank doesn’t want to piss Jamia off and be the asshole to ruin the party. Besides, she doesn’t look like she’s ready to punch people yet.

That’s of course, until she turns around and notices cute guy still talking to Batman but also to this very pretty brunette. The brunette isn’t any girl but Lyn Zoid, the Crash Queens’ fiercest opponent and Jamia’s very own nemesis.

It’s a feud that’s been raging on for years and Frank still has no idea how it all started. Jamia never seems in the mood to talk about it. The only thing Frank knows is that it’s not about a boy.

Of all the parties going on tonight, Lyn Zoid had to crash this one.

“Walk away, Jams,” Frank whispers in her ear, wrapping his hands around Jamia’s waist to make sure she doesn’t jump on Lyn Zoid.

“What is she doing here? Doesn’t she know she’s on Crash Queen territory?”

Cute guy obviously knows Lyn Zoid. There’s something in the way he talks to her and the way he’s looking at her like she’s the fucking messiah. It also might be because his hand is all over her hip, his fingers clamped around her t-shirt like he’s trying to pull her away from the drunken Batman and his caveman-like manners.

 _That’s fucking great, really._ Frank managed to pick a straight guy to lust over once again.

In his defense, cute guy looked interested too. Maybe Frank misread the signs or maybe cute guy and Lyn Zoid are just friends. Still, it doesn’t make this any better. Frank will not shove his tongue down the enemy’s throat. It’s a matter of principles.

Jamia struggles out of Frank’s reach and marches down to the corner, pushing everyone out of her way. Frank grabs her by the hem of her t-shirt before she can do any damage and pulls her away from her nemesis.

“Remember? Keep the fighting for the derby,” he says, pressing himself against Jamia and weaving their fingers together.

To the outside world, they probably look like a couple about to engage in a passionate make out session.

“I could smash her teeth in right now,” Jamia says as she glares at Lyn Zoid over Frank’s shoulder. “I heard guys love watching two chicks fight.”

Frank pats the nape of Jamia’s neck and whispers, “I don’t. Let’s just go home.”

It’s a little touch and go for a second there, but then Jamia’s eyes are staring into Frank’s again. She sighs and plants a kiss on Frank’s cheek.

“Why are you so gay, Frankie?” she asks in a whisper, her lips curving into an easy smile.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight if you behave. I’ll make you my special hangover breakfast in the morning.”

Jamia grimaces and looks back at Lyn Zoid. She shakes her head and mumbles, “Come on. I can totally take her now. Someone needs to teach her she shouldn’t hang out in Belleville like it belongs to her.”

“No, _you_ come on. If you want the good side of the mattress, you better be a good girl.”

Frank doesn’t really get all that territorial shit. He doesn’t really like Lyn Zoid or anything, but she should be allowed to hang out anywhere she likes. It’s just a dumb thing the team needs to get over.

“This is not over, bitch,” Jamia says, her voice so loud that Frank is pretty sure the entire house heard that.

He lets out a nervous laugh and grabs Jamia by the waist. He is escorting her off the premises, dragging her through the crowd in the living room and along the corridor, when he hears, “Who did she call a bitch?”

Frank could turn around and apologize for Jamia’s behavior but he doesn’t really want to risk going back in. He pushes Jamia out of the front door and locks her inside his car before Lyn Zoid decides to come after them.

After tonight, Frank is pretty sure he deserves a fucking medal or the title of best friend of the year. Maybe Jamia will acknowledge that someday. The point is that she just ruined any chance Frank ever had with the cute guy with the leather jacket, and there is nothing she can do to make it alright again.

*

The turn-out is nothing spectacular but it’s not too bad either. Five girls show up to the try outs.

They’re all in their mid twenties, with the exception of a tall Amazon with a back tattoo that makes Frank a little jealous. If he had the money, he’d get something huge too. Maybe Pathmark will even allow it if he gets a sleeve with his favorite Bouncing Souls lyrics or the Misfits logo.

One of the girls falls flat on her face as soon as she gets onto the track and has to be taken back to the locker room with a busted lip, her blood dripping all over the rink.

Punch’n’Julie is on cleaning duties this week and has to follow the poor bleeding girl around and make sure she doesn’t stain the carpet in the lobby on her way out.

Frank feels sorry for her for about two seconds and then starts laughing hysterically. He’s not being a dick or anything. It’s just kind of funny when you think about it.

He knew coming here today was a good decision. It’s his only day off today and he figured he might as well support the team and witness the hilarity of people falling flat on their asses or even better, their faces.

It’s so much better than hanging out with Bob and Ray like they sometimes do on the rare days they don’t have to work. It’s not that Frank doesn’t enjoy spending time with his friends because he really does. It’s just that derby is always better than playing Call of Duty and guzzling Mountain Dew for hours on end.

For a few minutes, the remaining fresh meat (as everyone calls them) show more potential than their friend with the fat lip, but they’re definitely not derby material either. They’re just not fast enough, not tough enough to make it. Sure, they could learn these things with time, but time is something they don’t have.

One of the girls manages to block Ell’on Wheels and pushes her out of the track. Frank cheers for her even though it’s not that difficult to block Ell’on Wheels. She’s crap when you give her the jammer’s position. She should stick to being a pivot. That’s something she actually doesn’t suck at.

S’Uzi gets frustrated ten minutes into the try-outs and orders everyone to take a break.

The new girls nurse their scrapped knees, their banged up elbows and their bruised egos while everyone else regroups to talk about the fresh meat and the many shortcomings and very few skills the potential recruits are exhibiting.

Not even a minute in, Jamia breaks the huddle, takes Frank’s hand and pulls him into the rink.

“Wanna go for a ride?” she asks with a grin. “This shit is just too boring for me.”

Frank doesn’t skate a lot when the girls are around. He usually skates with Jamia when it’s just the two of them, when she’s in the mood to screw around and when he’s sure no one’s watching.

It’s not that he doesn’t like skating. He loves it but he’s still not comfortable doing it on front of the Crash Queens. He’s not bad, but it doesn’t mean he’s any better than any of the potential new recruits.

As soon as they’re on the track, Frank lets go of Jamia’s hand and gets some speed. He giggles as he passes the huddle on the side of the track and waves at one of the fresh meat.

She waves back, looking a bit confused as to why Frank is out on the track when he’s obviously not a girl and therefore not a Crash Queen or a potential recruit.

Jamia catches up to him after a minute and tries to throw him off the track. She uses her hip to push him but misses because one of the first things Frank learned from skating with Jamia is how to duck her attacks.

Frank manages to pass her on her right and speeds up until she’s just too far away to win this one. Then he does two more laps, passing Jamia again and blows her a kiss.

“You can’t touch this,” he says with a giggle.

To his surprise, Jamia doesn’t look pissed off at him like she usually does when Frank is being a showoff. Instead, she’s grinning, mischievous, like she’s planning something to get back at him; something terrible and humiliating that might involve his balls and a can of shaving cream.

Frank stops and takes a knee on the side of the track. He waits for Jamia to join him but instead, she goes back into her huddle and ignores him completely.

One of the new recruits is staring at him and the girl Frank waved at on his first loop is whispering something in her ear.

Maybe Frank should be worried. It wouldn’t be the first time the girls conspired against him.

There was this one time they followed him to work and played a game of bowling in the middle of the canned food aisle. Gary didn’t think it was hilarious and Frank almost lost his job. He had to promise him the girls would never be back.

“Frankie?” Jamia calls him as the team breaks the huddle. They all turn to Frank and that mischievous grin is on every single one of their faces.

Now Frank is definitely freaking out. He wants to run while he still can. The door is right behind the girls and if he skates there really fast, he still has a chance to make it unscathed.

“He would be perfect, don’t you think?” Jamia says and her team mates all nod.

“Perfect for what?” Frank asks even though he’s afraid to hear the answer.

Jamia’s eyes light up and Frank finally gets it. They’re clearly out of their minds if they think that Frank can be part of their team.

“No,” he says, shaking his head frantically and backing up on his knees. “No. Don’t even think about it.”

Rushin Roulette snorts and Jamia holds out her arm to help Frank up.

He slaps it away and crawls back up on his feet. He starts skating towards the locker rooms, giving the new girls reproachful glares. It’s their fucking fault if the Crash Queens are even thinking about taking him on the team. Why did they have to suck so bad?

“You’re all insane,” he says, resisting the urge to punch the walls. He sits down so he can take off his skates but the team is surrounding him as soon as he hits the floor.

Frank has to duck under Rushin Roulette and Punch’n’Julie’s armpits to escape.

“Listen,” Jamia shouts at him. “You’re better than any of the fresh meat we got today. You know the rules. You’re fast. You’re pretty damn agile, too.”

“But I have a penis and as far as I can tell, your league isn’t co-ed.”

A couple of the girls cackle like they’re still in high school and Frank flips them off and mumbles, “Yes, I said the word penis.”

They look shocked for a few seconds and then start cackling again.

“We can work around it,” Rushin Roulette says with a shrug. She stares at Frank’s crotch like she’s already getting ideas to get rid of Frank’s manhood.

“You’re not cutting my penis off. The penis stays where it is.”

“Who talked about cutting Little Frankie?” Punch’n’Julie asks, a huge grin on her big round face. “We just need to make sure you look girly enough to be on the team. That’s all.”

“That’s _all_? Are you fucking kidding me?”

There is no fucking way Frank is doing this. Maybe the girls got hit over the head one too many times during practice, but it’s clear that they’re not in their right minds.

“What are your views on short skirts?” Jamia asks, crooking her mouth and squinting at Frank. “Cause I think you’d look very sexy in a skirt.”

“Fuck off. I’m not cross-dressing for you, losers. That’s fucked up and wrong and...Did I already say fucked up?”

That would also be cheating. They could get in trouble for this. Besides, there’s no way anyone could buy Frank as a girl.

“Come on. You’re barely a dude anyway,” Nancy Drewblood says and that’s _fucking it_. They can eat shit and die for all he cares.

“Fuck you.”

Jamia skates up to Frank and runs her fingers on his face, pinching his cheeks like he’s a fucking kid. “She didn’t mean it, baby. It’s just that a little make-up and a cute skirt and you’ll be good to go.”

“I hate you all.” Frank shrugs Jamia off him and grits his teeth.

“No, Frankie. Come back. You love us,” the girls scream as Frank chucks his skates in a corner. “And we love you. Come back and we’ll—”

Frank storms out and slams the door as hard as he can. _Fuck them and their stupid ideas._

*

Trying to avoid running into any of the Crash Queens doesn’t work. Even though they’ve been banished for life from Pathmark, it doesn’t stop them from showing up there, one at a time.

Frank gets a visit from Punch’n’Julie first. She corners him while he’s putting new labels on reduced items and tortures him by asking questions about his size and his favorite color and, “Would he like the girls to pick a nickname for him?”

It’s dumb and Frank doesn’t give her anything. He just keeps on labeling the items and ignores her.

Punch’n’Julie scuttles away when Gary appears out of nowhere and asks her if she needs any help.

Frank gets a visit from Rushin Roulette the next day and she asks the same stupid questions while Frank is trying to do his job. He’s at the frozen meat section today which makes him sick to his stomach.

“What if I replace you?” she asks in a low voice, looking over her shoulder like she’s afraid Gary is going to call security on her ass.

Frank doesn’t really get what she’s saying until her hand is on Frank’s wrist. She pulls the chunk of frozen meet off his hand and puts it back in the freezer.

“I can do this for you until your assface of a manager comes back. Just keep an eye on him and I’ll do this for you.”

As much as Frank would like this plan to work, Rushin Roulette doesn’t know anything about re-stocking and ordering.

“You don’t know what to do,” he says as he quickly scans the area to make sure Gary isn’t watching him. “Just go before Gary comes back.”

“It’s just checking the expiration dates, right?”

Rushin Roulette starts to pick up every item in the cooler and examines each label.

Frank grabs a cutlet from her hands and drops it back into the cooler. “No. No. It’s not just that.” He steers Rushin Roulette away from the meat and whispers, “Go away before I lose my job. Please.”

Rushin Roulette crooks her mouth and rolls her eyes at Frank. “Fine. But we’re not giving up, Frankie. We always get what we want and we want you,” she says, patting Frank’s cheek and looking over Frank’s shoulder at something or someone Frank can’t see.

Then she’s gone.

“Did I walk in on some kinky shit?” Ray asks just as Frank is heading back to the meat section to do his job.

“No. It’s just some stupid shit.” Frank shrugs because he’s not sure if he should tell anyone about this. It’s too embarrassing.

Since Ray decides to stand there and stare at him, Frank doesn’t really have a choice but to spill the beans.

“It’s just. Jamia and the team. They want me to join,” he says with a deep sigh, grimacing at the ribs and chicken legs.

“They do know you’re not a girl, right?”

Frank nods. “They think I can pass for one with a skirt, though.”

Ray smirks but instead of backing up Frank and telling him it’s a terrible idea and no one will ever think Frank is a girl, he says, “I think you should do it.”

“Thanks for being the sane one.”

“Who was that?” Bob asks as he joins them by the freezer, looking like a grizzly bear just woking up from a long period of hibernation.

“Who?”

Bob scratches his beard and ducks his head. Then he mumbles, “The girl who was talking to you a minute ago.”

“Rushin Roulette?”

“That’s not a fucking name. Is she another one of your roller derby girls?”

Well, Bob has a type. That’s certain.

“Yes, Bob. I have a whole bunch of them. I was hiding them from you so you wouldn’t ask them out.”

Ray smiles and says, “You love derby. You love these girls. I think it’s that simple.”

“I would look butt ugly as a girl. A flat-chested, butt ugly girl with a dick tucked under her skirt.”

“So when’s the next game?” Bob asks, pretending to be fascinated by a frozen chunk of ground beef.

“They’re called bouts,” he corrects him before adding, “She’s single and she has a thing for beards. I think you’re good to go, asswipe.”

Speaking of asswipes, Gary walks by and gives Frank, Bob and Ray a reproachful glare. It’s like this guy’s entire existence is devoted to be a pain in Frank’s backside.

Frank can already hear the lecture they’re going to be given at the end of the shift. It will be about personal conversations on store time and how they’re bad for productivity. They’ve heard it at least once a week for the past couple of years.

_What a fucking asswipe._

“Just think about it, man,” says Ray as he pats Frank’s arm and heads back to his restocking, dragging Bob with him.

Frank hates every single one of his friends today. It’s possible he needs new ones. Non-crazy ones would be even better.

*

It takes Frank a week to think about it even though he doesn’t really want to. It’s actually all he thinks about while he’s at work, hoping he won’t get another visit from the Crash Queens that could get him in trouble with Gary.

As much as he loves the idea of joining the roller derby team, he’s still on the fence about the whole part where he has to dress up as a girl.

He did it before. He was Wednesday Addams one year for Halloween when he was eight or maybe nine. But this is different. This is much more serious than parading in a dress and a wig to get candy from the neighbors. This is cheating and pretending he’s someone he’s not for the rest of the season just to make Jamia and the team happy.

Frank likes to see his best friend happy. Jamia will probably be his downfall.

When she comes by the store one afternoon and tries to make him change his mind once again, Frank stands his ground again, but barely.

She makes this sad face at him, her lip quivering, and Frank has a very hard time telling her to go away. Then Gary shows up and Jamia plays an elaborate game of hide and seek in the aisle while Bob is watching her from the stock room.

*

One night when he’s about to go to bed after a long shift at the self check registers (he spent the entire day explaining why people needed to put their items on that side of the register and not in their purse, and teaching a few elderly women where to insert their credit card), Frank hears something crash against his window.

It sounds like someone throwing a bunch of pebbles at the house which would be fine except Frank’s mom is asleep.

Jamia used to do that to get Frank’s attention when they were still in high school but she hasn’t done it in a while.

When Frank looks down in the driveway, Jamia is there and so is the entire roster of the Crash Queens. They’re all kneeling, except for Jamia who is standing in the middle, her arms outstretched and a big goofy grin on her face.

Frank is surprised there isn’t a boom box involved in their demonstration.

“We love you, Frank. Join us,” Jamia says, her voice barely audible through the window pane.

Across the street, the neighbors’ dog starts barking and a light switches on.

Frank better make sure his lawn is clear before his mom decides to throw his sorry broke ass into the street for waking up the entire neighborhood.

He opens his window and shouts, “I said no. Go home before the neighbors call the cops.”

The girls stay right where they are, obviously not impressed by the threat, and all the neighborhood dogs, including Cujo, Frank’s dog (or his mom’s. His ownership is still being discussed for when Frank moves into his own place), join in the barking.

“You can pick your own name,” Ell’on Wheels says as she gets up and starts unfolding a huge banner across the lawn.

“You could be Frankie Stein or whatever you want,” Punch’n’Julie offers before giving her team mate a hand with the banner.

The message is pretty much the same he’s been hearing for a week.

_The Crash Queens want YOU!_

“That’s a dumb name. I’d rather be Fun Ghoul, or…I don’t know. Something cooler,” Frank says as soon as the banner is fully unfolded.

It’s not like Frank really had time to think about a roller derby name for himself. It’s just something he came up with one time he was bored out of his mind at the ten items or less register. He just thought it would make a cool supervillain name and just the right balance between witty and offensive.

“Then you can be Fun Ghoul. Just be Fun Ghoul with us,” Jamia says just as Frank’s bedroom door opens.

His mom is standing there in her slippers and her hair in a mess, like a bomb exploded on the left side of her face. She stares at Frank for a few seconds and then mumbles, “Say goodnight to Jamia and then close the window. You’re going to catch a cold.”

Frank nods and waits for his mom to close the door. Then he turns back to the girls on his front lawn and tells them, “I won’t look good as a chick.”

Jamia’s smile turns into a shit eating grin. “You will look gorgeous. You are beautiful to us, baby.”

“Don’t make fun of me if I’m an ugly ass chick,” he says, feeling suddenly very self-conscious.

“We won’t. Besides, it’s not really about that. It’s about how great you skate,” Jamia says and all the girls hum their approval.

 _Fine._ They win this time. He will do whatever the fuck they want, just as long as they stop harassing him at his workplace and at his home.

“You better make sure no one finds out.”

It wouldn’t ruin his reputation or anything. Frank isn’t sure he has a reputation in Belleville. Maybe it would actually make him look a little tougher; a tougher _chick_.

“Is that a yes?”

Frank shuts his eyes and says, “Yeah.” He cannot believe he is doing this.

“Thank you, Frankie,” Jamia says.

Someone across the street starts shouting obscenities and the girls take it as their cue to put away the banner.

“We love you,” one of the girls shouts while S’Uzi says, “Meet us for practice tomorrow after work and we’ll make you into a pretty lady.”

Frank knows he’s going to regret this. It’s just a matter of time.

*

Frank stares at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and shrugs.

He can do this. It’s just a little make-up. He’s actually already comfortable in the short skirt and the top Jamia dug up from her own wardrobe. He also doesn’t mind the cup in his underwear anymore. The eyeliner isn’t really that hard to get used to, and the fact that he had to shave his legs isn’t that awkward either.

Jamia did a great job making him look half decent.

The black and purple eye-shadow over his eyelids make him look like somebody else but he’s not sure people will see him as anything else than a guy with some make-up on and a tiny skirt that makes his thighs look bigger than they are.

Frank keeps touching his mouth, as if the gloss Jamia put over it might fade if he speaks or licks his lips too much. It would ruin everything.

He combs his hair with his fingers and tries to put his bangs over his face. It’s a good thing he didn’t shave it like he planned a couple of weeks ago. He looks a lot more credible as a girl with shoulder-length hair.

Something stirs in his stomach and Frank has to take a deep breath so he doesn’t puke. He’s always been the nervous type. The sound of his heart beating in his ears is deafening. He needs to get out of here before he changes his mind and runs for the nearest exit.

Just as he’s thinking this, someone opens the door to the locker room and Frank knows this is it; the moment he’s been dreading.

He adjusts his skirt, runs his fingers in his hair one last time, and joins Jamia and the rest of the girls out on the track.

It’s a friendly bout, just to get Frank into the swing of things. Most of the crowd here today is made up of friends, and friends of friends. Even Ray and Bob are in the stands, but Frank doesn’t want to look at them because it might ruin his focus if he sees them laughing at him.

The fact that it’s a friendly bout means that, if Frank fucks up, the girls can pretend the whole thing was some sort of joke; although he’s not sure people would get it. They might still come at him with pitchforks.

This doesn’t make the bout any less scary or less embarrassing.

As he skates around the track for the first time, Frank can hear people cheering. He can hear Jamia chant his name as she catches up with him and starts skating at his side. She grabs his hand and raises it in the air. The cheering swells up.

The voices seem to be all screaming “Fun Ghoul,” which is a bit strange because no one here tonight has ever seen him play before. Frank’s been training with the girls all week, but no one was there to see him.

The referee, a guy named Dr Death Defying, checks that everyone’s gear is regulation. Helmet, mouth guard, knees and elbow pads are properly strapped.

He stops in front of Frank for a second and gives him an inquisitive look.

Frank knew it. He isn’t credible enough as a girl and now the referee is going to throw him out of the team and report the Crash Queens for their treachery.

“Fresh meat?” he asks, turning to Captain S’Uzi.

S’Uzi nods and winks at Frank. “It’s her first time so be gentle.”

Dr Death Defying gives Frank another look and then starts checking her equipment. He examines her mouth guard and makes sure her helmet is securely fastened before moving on to the next girl.

Jamia, who is standing directly to Frank’s left, elbows him in the ribs and snorts.

Frank feels sick. He is just as nervous as they day his band played the school prom. He is just as nervous as the day he met The Misfits after one of their shows at the Loop Lounge. It’s probably a good thing that Frank doesn’t have to skate in front of people right now because his legs won’t stop wobbling. He gives Jamia a small forced smile and takes a deep breath.

His stomach flips when the referee blows his whistle and the teams start filing onto the track.

Geoff, the guy who always comments the bouts, shouts something in the microphone. It takes Frank a few minutes to figure out he’s just going through the names of every girl playing this bout.

They’re playing the Murderdolls from Arlington today. Most of the girls in the team used to be in high school with Frank. If they recognize him, he’s fucked, but he doubts it will happen. Frank lost a lot of weight since high school. Also, he didn’t have a lot of friends at Our Lady of Peace and probably didn’t make a lasting imprint on any of his school mates.

He is still trying to figure what name Leslie Spaghetti used to go by in high school and who she was hanging out with when he’s called onto the track by S’Uzi.

Jamia pats his arm as he replaces her as the jammer. She sticks the star onto his helmet and gives him a quick grin. “Kill’em all, babe.”

Frank’s very first adversary is a short girl with freckles and a pair of pigtails. She makes a kissy face at him when he places himself on the starting line and Frank isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing. His instincts are telling him he should flip her off but it’s probably not a great way to show his sportsmanship.

The whistle blows and Frank manages to get a false start on his first time. He fucking knows everything there is to know about roller derby and yet, he doesn’t wait for the double whistle because he’s too eager to get this over with.

“Are you sure you know the rules, darling?” Pigtails asks with a lopsided grin as Frank takes his place behind the starting line.

Frank cringes and searches for Jamia on the bench.

She’s giving Frank a reassuring smile and a thumb up. Then she mouths, “You are doing great,” and points at the referee.

 _Right._ Frank needs to focus on him and on his whistle and not on Jamia or his annoying opponent.

The second time around, Frank doesn’t mess up. He shoots out like a canon ball as soon as the referee blows his whistle at the jammers.

He loses sight of Pigtails and then makes his way through the pack of skaters. He doesn’t even have to touch anyone from the opposite team. He just grabs a hold of Ell’on Wheels’ hand and passes everyone without breaking a sweat.

Frank doesn’t stop skating and doesn’t reduce his speed. He has a comfortable advance and Ell’on Wheels is doing a great job at blocking Pigtails; so much so that Frank finds himself elbow to elbow with her on his second loop, and then on his third and fourth.

He is on fire. He doesn’t feel nervous anymore but elated and like nothing can stand in his way.

He can hear the crowd cheering for him louder than before. He can hear Jamia’s voice breaking through the wall of screams. He can hear the music on the loud speakers and Geoff shouting things Frank’s cannot understand. He can see the referee signaling him he’s the lead jammer but that’s all he manages to see.

On his fourth loop, Frank takes a quick glance at Jamia and she’s gesturing for him to secure his points, patting her hips with insistence before pointing her chin at the scoreboard.

Frank mirrors her and the referee blows his whistle.

As soon as Frank reaches the sidelines, Jamia and about half of the team is on him. They kiss his cheeks and hug him, claw at his t-shirt and tug on his helmet. Someone even grabs his ass and gives it a good squeeze but Frank can’t really identify the perpetrator.

He turns to the scoreboard and smiles at his accomplishment, basking in his teammates’ joy and their very public displays of affection even though the bout is far from over. He’s still high from his first few points when S’Uzi pushes him back towards the track and slaps him on the back because it’s his turn to jam again.

The rest of the bout is pretty much a blur after that. Frank scores more points than anyone else on the team combined and manages not to make an ass of himself when he skates with the pack.

He even suggests a few plays to the girls that might score them more points, and S’Uzi doesn’t seem angry at him for stepping on her toes.

The Crash Queens take an impressive hundred odd points over their adversaries and everyone is eager to high five Frank at the end and to tell him how great he was. He makes the traditional triumphant loop around the track and receives praises from the Arlington’s Murderdolls and from the audience. People everywhere are saying his name and it makes Frank laugh because he is now known as Fun Ghoul. He wonders if anyone actually gets the joke or if he’s the only one.

Frank is shaking hands with Pigtails when he notices the cute guy from the party standing among the crowd, looking a bit ill at ease as he ducks his head and hides behind his bangs. He’s not standing on the side like everyone else with his arm outstretched which means he’s probably not eager to get a high five from the players.

He’s just looking at Frank like he’s trying to figure him out and it’s making Frank feel really uncomfortable.

Maybe he recognized Frank from the party. That would actually be nice because it would mean Frank made an impression on him, but it would also be terrible because Frank doesn’t want anyone here to know he’s not really a girl.

Frank skates towards him but doesn’t stop. The guy opens his mouth like he might want to engage in a conversation but Frank isn’t sure he’s supposed to talk to anyone. His voice would betray him if he did.

Jamia grabs him on their way to the locker room and pulls him into a corner.

“Gerard Way is here,” she says, looking very serious and maybe slightly pissed off.

“Gerard Who?”

“Way. Gerard Fucking Way. He watched you all night,” she replies, turning to look over her shoulder. “If he thinks he can pluck one of our most promising recruits from us, he’s in for a treat.”

Frank follows her gaze and the cute guy from the party is still there. He’s actually staring at Frank and shuffling his feet like he’s not sure where he’s supposed to go.

“Who is he?”

Jamia turns back to Frank and says, “He’s Lyn Zoid’s friend. He’s the guy who draws all their merch and posters and if he’s staring at you right now it’s because you are a serious threat to Lyn Zoid’s team.”

“Oh.”

Gerard has to be cute guy then; a name that somehow suits him.

“Whatever you do, don’t talk to this dude. One word out of your mouth and we’re screwed,” Jamia says as she grabs Frank by the hem of his shirt and drags him to the locker room.

*

Of course, not talking to anyone would be much easier if the girls hadn’t planned a giant party to celebrate Frank’s very first roller derby bout. This means that Frank has to stay in his Fun Ghoul costume, complete with skirt and make-up. He even has to keep the bra the girls spent half an hour filling up with toilet paper to make Frank look more convincing.

It’s at a bar not two blocks away from Frank’s house and everyone from the bout is here. _Everyone._

Frank tries to avoid Gerard for a while because he promised Jamia he wouldn’t fraternize with the enemy. Instead, he gets a couple of drinks with some random cute guy S’Uzi throws into his arms.

They flirt for maybe an hour and the guy seems oblivious to the fact that Frank is actually a dude the entire time. Frank tells him about his first bout in details over a few drinks before ending up making out in the bathroom.

The guy is a good kisser, no question about that. It’s just that Frank would enjoy it more if he wasn’t so drunk and so set on putting his hands up Frank’s skirt. He doesn’t really want the guy to realize Frank has a dick. It might freak him out.

Frank bats the guy’s fingers away and meets no resistance when he shoves him against a urinal. He curls up a hand in the guy’s t-shirt and proceeds on giving me a hickey; sucking and nibbling on the underside of his jaw like a fucking pro.

They’re interrupted before things get out of hand (a hickey doesn’t count) when Jamia bursts into the bathroom, looking for Frank because she has someone to introduce to him.

The guy disappears into the crowd as soon as they’re back at the bar and Frank is kind of relieved because, even though he’s a bit too drunk to make responsible decisions, he still feels like an asshole for tricking some cute but possibly straight guy into kissing him.

The bar isn’t that big and avoiding Gerard is next to impossible. He tries to hide behind Jamia for a little while but it just doesn’t work. Everywhere he looks, Gerard is there.

It’s much later in the night when Frank and Jamia decide to take a walk out of the bar to grab a smoke or two.

They find Gerard standing right by the door, looking bored and maybe slightly wasted. Gerard is staring at Frank again but quickly ducks his head when he notices he’s been made.

“Don’t talk to him under any circumstance,” Jamia whispers in Frank’s ear. She wraps her arms around Frank’s waist from behind and adds, “Let him do the talking. For all intent and purposes, you are now my mute friend, Frankie.”

“Okay.”

Jamia slaps Frank upside the head. “Mute. Meaning you don’t get to talk anymore.”

Frank nods and lets Jamia push him towards Gerard. He thought he was supposed to avoid him like the plague but this is okay too. As long as Jamia knows what she’s doing, it’s all fine.

“Hi. I couldn’t help but notice you staring at our badass new recruit,” Jamia says, hip checking Frank into the potted plant by the door.

Frank catches himself against the wall and grabs the plant before it plunges to its death.

When he looks up, Gerard is scratching at his hair, which looks disgusting and greasy. Then he’s mumbling, “Erm. I wasn’t…Hi.”

“This is Fun Ghoul, but you can call her Frankie. She’s mute. Lost her voice in a tragic crowd surfing accident a few years ago. Be nice to her or we’ll kick your teeth in. Got it?”

Gerard nods, his eyes staring into Jamia’s, wide and scared.

“I’m Gerard,” he says, giving Frank a lopsided and very awkward looking smile.

Frank shakes Gerard’s hand and pulls it away quickly. He wonders if Gerard can tell Frank is a dude just by shaking his hand. Frank can’t really tell if his hands are manly or not. It’s not really something he’s been pondering before.

“Let him do the talking. I want to know what his intentions are,” Jamia whispers in Frank’s ear before bowing gracefully, leaving Frank alone with Gerard.

If Frank was allowed, he would probably ask Gerard where he’s from and he would tell him how much he likes that Black Flag t-shirt Gerard’s wearing tonight. He would also buy him a drink and flirt and drag him to the very same bathroom where he was making out with another guy not too long ago (there’s only one bathroom at the bar so it’s really out of his control). But it’s not on the menu tonight; for tonight, Frank is a mute girl.

“You were amazing today.”

Frank smiles. Then he almost makes the mistake of saying ‘thank you’. He lets out a tiny hiccup instead and covers his mouth.

“Are you...” Gerard starts before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t really know how to do this.”

Frank shrugs. He’s not sure how to do this either but he doesn’t want Gerard to go away now. All he wants is to get to know him and not fuck up. It’s just that it’s going to be a little more difficult than he anticipated. He should have made a move on Gerard at that house party.

“I would love to ask you a million questions but it’s not going to work out, is it?” Gerard asks as he searches his pockets and produces a pack of Malboros. “Unless I only ask you yes or no questions. That could work, right?”

Frank giggles and nods. _Shit._ Do mute people giggle?

Gerard quirks an eyebrow at him like he’s suspicious of something and Frank starts to wonder if that stupid giggle was a dead giveaway that he’s in fact, not mute and not a girl at all.

“Do you live in Belleville?” Gerard asks after a few seconds, handing his smokes to Frank.

Frank nods and grabs a cigarette from the pack. He slides it between his lips and turns to see if Jamia is watching him, monitoring his every move.

She seems to be having a very heated discussion with Geoff and Ell’on Wheels so she probably won’t notice if Frank steps out with Gerard for a little smoke. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong.

“Me too,” Gerard says, his voice high pitched with excitement. “I actually live on the other side of town. I went to school here, too. Do you like comic books?” he asks, his eyes wide and his hands gesturing wildly as he fishes out his lighter.

Frank nods as they walk out the door. He’s disappointed he can’t talk to Gerard right now but at least, he gets to listen to him. It’s better than nothing at this point.

Gerard is pointing at some graffiti and rambling about street art and how it is the freest form of speech and should be encouraged, when Jamia, Ell’on Wheels and S’Uzi walk out of the bar in a huddle.

Jamia pulls Frank away from Gerard and says, “Sorry but my friend is needed somewhere else.” She starts steering Frank back inside the bar and gives Gerard one of her signature death glares.

“Ok,” Gerard mumbles as he scratches at his filthy hair once more. “Well I’m off now. It was nice meeting you, Frankie. By the way, I love your derby name. It’s a pun on the Italian word for fuck you. Right?”

Frank nods and lets Jamia drag him back through the door.

The last glimpse of Gerard that he gets is of him grinning up at Frank and putting out his cigarette.

If only Frank could talk right now, he would go back outside and ask Gerard to make out with him or maybe he wouldn’t even ask. He would just go for it.

“Did he ask you anything derby related?” Jamia asks Frank as soon as they’re inside, the music and loud conversations drowning her voice.

Frank shakes his head and smiles. He never thought anyone would get his derby name but apparently, Gerard Way is not like anyone. Also, he’s fucking sexy as hell when he’s smoking.

*

The Crash Queens win two bouts in a row and both times, Frank spots Gerard on the floor seats, watching him and waving at him like he’s his biggest fan.

It’s not just him, though. His friend Lyn Zoid is there too, which makes any interaction between Frank and Gerard impossible.

Jamia would probably gouge Frank’s eyes out if she knew he actually wanted to get in the enemy’s very tight and sexy pants. He still doesn’t get why Jamia is so set on hating Gerard. It’s not like he ever did anything to piss Jamia off. His only fault is that he’s friends with Lyn Zoid.

Everyone meets up at Geoff’s house after the team’s win against the West Orange Darlings and Gerard and Lyn Zoid are there.

“Geoff’s house is neutral territory,” S’Uzi explains as she holds Frank in a headlock. “That’s why everyone has the right to be here tonight. Even Lyn Zoid,” she adds, looking at Jamia and raising an eyebrow at her. “Capisce? No brawl tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” Jamia rolls her eyes and grabs Frank’s hands before pulling him away from S’Uzi’s reach.

“I wasn’t even going to start a fight,” she mumbles, letting go of Frank’s hand. “I don’t hate the chick or anything. It’s just that I’m still not over her team beating us five times in a row. Can you blame me?”

Frank giggles and then remembers he shouldn’t because he’s mute and he read on the internet that mute people don’t usually make that kind of sound when they laugh. It’s hard work to stay in character, but it’s for a good cause.

“She fucking made me twist my ankle last year. I don’t think it’s funny, Frankie,” Jamia says between gritted teeth.

She disappears a minute later with the guy she’s sort of seeing on and off. His name is Mike Pedicone and contrary to what Bob thinks, he’s not an asshole. Actually, Pedicone might be the nicest guy Jamia ever dated, but Frank won’t tell her because she might break up with him just for spite.

If Pedicone wasn’t so into Jamia, and of course, straight, Frank would be all over that in a second. Frank can’t resist a guy with tattoos.

Frank navigates around the party for a little while, looking for someone to not engage in a conversation with since he’s technically mute.

He spots Tom Kill’It, one of the referees from tonight flirting with S’Uzi, and chuckles because they spent the entire bout antagonizing each other.

Geoff Rickly’s house is pretty big and finding a familiar face isn’t that easy.

Frank’s never been invited here before, and he doesn’t know his way around the property just yet.

It would be nice if Frank could find a place to sit for a few minutes, away from the loud derby girls and the drunken assholes trying to pinch Frank’s ass.

There’s a porch with a swing where a couple is making out and a kitchen full of strangers. There’s a large flat screen TV in the living room which seems to be the center of attention, and a guy sleeping off his booze on the leather couch.

Frank wonders what Geoff does for a living because there’s no way he’s making any money screaming his lungs out at roller derby bouts. One thing is sure, it must be something that pays well considering the amount of cool shit he has scattered around the house.

There is a library upstairs, right next to the bathroom. Frank is on his way to relieve his bladder when he stumbles upon it. Since he’s kind of a bookworm and curious by nature, he walks in, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching him. He’s not even sure he’s supposed to be in this part of the house.

The room is small but packed full of books. Frank can’t even see the walls anymore because every inch of them is covered in biographies, fictions and comic books. There is actually an entire section for the comic books alone.

Frank is browsing through the titles, his need to pee completely gone, when he finds an issue of _Fables_ he hasn’t read yet.

He pulls it out of the stack and sits down cross legged on the floor, momentarily forgetting that he’s wearing a skirt. It’s a good thing that he’s the only person in the room. He wouldn’t want to flash his junk to anyone.

Even though he knows Jamia is going to be looking for him as soon as she’s done breaking up or making up with Pedicone, Frank makes himself comfortable between the stacks of coffee table books about Klimt and Van Gogh and starts reading.

Everything around him stops existing, and for a while it’s just him and Jack Horner. Shutting off the world is something he’s always managed to do when he’s reading. It’s probably why he loves books so much.

He is still very much absorbed in the story when someone taps on his shoulder.

“What are you reading?” a high pitched voice asks, and when Frank looks up, startled, he sees that it’s Gerard’s.

Frank opens his mouth. Then he remembers he’s mute and shuts it. He closes the issue of _Fables_ and shows it to Gerard.

“Oh, I love that one. Have you read _Wolves_?”

Frank nods.

 _Fuck_. This mute thing is stupid. He wants to tell Gerard how much he loves Wolves. He wants to tell him how much he loves American Virgin and The Boys and so many other comic books. If he started talking, he probably wouldn’t be able to shut up.

Gerard sits down next to Frank and looks around the room.

“I had no idea this place existed,” he says, his eyes falling back on Frank.

The music coming from downstairs is the only thing breaking the awkward silence that settles in the library. It’s a tune by Glasvegas. Frank recognizes the melody right away.

“I don’t really do parties but Lindsey forces me to come once in a while,” Gerard says after a few minutes. “She’s scared I’ll become a basement hermit because I don’t like people that much.”

It takes Frank a second to figure out Gerard is talking about Lyn Zoid. They never use real names, even outside of derby. Frank uses Jamia’s name because she’s always been Jamia to him. Gerard probably has the same thing with Lyn Zoid. _Lindsey._

“I think I said yes because I knew you would be there and you’re the only person I know besides Linds. I asked one of your teammates at the bout. I think her name is Punch’n’Julie? Well, she said you were coming. Oh. I got you something by the way. I thought about ways I could get to know you. Yes or no questions can only work for so long so I got you this,” he says, pausing his soliloquy a second to hand Frank a notepad. “That way, it won’t be just me talking. Now you can ask me anything you’d like.”

Frank grabs the notepad and scribbles the words _thank you._

Gerard ducks his head and mumbles, “You’re welcome.”

Now that he can actually communicate with Gerard, Frank isn’t sure what he wants to ask him. It’s dumb, really, because he’s been thinking about Gerard a lot these past couple of weeks. He thought about things he’d like to ask him but now he’s kind of drawing a blank.

While he’s pondering on the question, Glasvegas is replaced by The Smiths.

“I don’t think your friend likes me very much,” Gerard says as he starts tugging on a loose thread of the ugly rug they’re sitting on.

Frank writes down, _She’ll get over it._

Maybe she will. The only thing that matters to Frank right now is that Gerard’s knee is casually bumping into his. It shouldn’t feel this good. Maybe it’s the friction of denim against skin that’s causing his heart to race.

*

They’re playing a very intense bout against the Long Island Roller Rebels when Frank gets ejected from the track.

One of the skaters for the opposite team hip-checks him while he’s attempting to pass the pack for a second time and Frank ends up in the floor seats, his head in some girl’s crotch and his right knee digging into a guy’s stomach.

The collision is spectacular but everyone in the audience seems fine. Frank can’t really check up on anyone or apologize for landing on them but the guy who got kneed in the stomach taps Frank on the back and helps him get back to his feet.

Then, just as he’s about to skate his way back through the pack, one of the Roller Rebels trips him.

It’s an accident. Frank can tell because the girl isn’t even paying attention to him. But it’s still pretty damn painful.

Frank falls to his knees. He tries to get back up but his right ankle is sore. His knees are throbbing too, probably because he fell on them wrong.

He turns around to see where the pack is and all of a sudden, someone grabs him from behind and pulls him onto the side.

“Are you alright?” Gerard asks, looking concerned.

He helps Frank sit in a corner and runs his fingers around Frank’s ankle, very gentle.

Frank sucks in a breath, expecting a powerful surge of pain up his leg but it’s not as bad as he thought. His ankle should be fine. He’ll just get a battle scar that he will show everyone at work and it will be the end of it. No broken bones and no blood; nothing that justifies Frank leaving the bout.

He looks up at Gerard and nods.

Frank never got a massage from anyone before. Not even from Jamia.

“You don’t have to go back now, right?” Gerard asks, the palm of his hand hot against Frank’s skin and his fingers tracing slow circles on the spot that will probably bear a bruise later.

A quick look at the track to check on his team and Frank realizes that the game has been stopped; most likely on his account. The EMTs are walking across the track. Everyone is staring at him and Gerard, expectant.

Well, this is embarrassing.

S’Uzi skates towards Frank and takes a knee.

“Are you good to go, darling? Cause everyone’s been waiting on you for five fucking minutes.”

Frank bites his bottom lip and shrugs. Has it really been five minutes? It didn’t feel that long.

Besides, Frank would rather stay on the side for now and let Gerard massage his ankle for the rest of the bout. Gerard’s fingers might be magic because Frank can’t really feel any pain anymore.

“Is that a yes or a no?” S’Uzi asks, frowning as she grabs Frank’s ankle, unceremonious, Gerard’s fingers sliding down Frank’s foot. “We have a game to win, babe.”

Frank looks at the scoreboard before turning back to S’Uzi. He could pretend he’s in excruciating pain. He could lie but they have a very small advance on the Long Island girls and Frank can’t really slack off to get a massage, however enjoyable it is.

He gives S’Uzi a thumb up and stands up.

The pain is manageable when Frank puts pressure on his right leg which means he’s good to go back into the game.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Gerard asks, his hand on the small of Frank’s back.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. She’s tough as nails,” S’Uzi replies before pushing Frank back onto the track.

Frank really appreciates how protective Gerard is (even though _roller derby is not really the place for it_ , Jamia would say) because no one’s been that good to him before. He wonders if Gerard’s that protective with Lyn Zoid or if it’s just because he likes Frank.

The truth is that Frank likes Gerard too. He really _likes_ him. He doesn’t want to get drunk and make out with him at a party. He doesn’t want him to be just another hook up. He wants to spend time with Gerard and that’s something kind of new to him.

Or maybe it’s just the massage talking and Frank should focus on the bout instead of staring at Gerard like he wants to eat him. People could start talking.

*

“I think your boyfriend needs to relax,” Jamia says later when they’re skating around the track and giving everyone high fives.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Frank protests, momentarily forgetting that he’s not allowed to talk in public; not when he’s wearing his derby gear.

“I think he is.”

Jamia shoves at him so hard that Frank has to swerve to avoid a collision with half of the Long Island Roller Rebels. Instead he ends up toppling over a row of chairs which are fortunately all empty. He pulls himself up and gives Jamia the stink eye when he catches up with her on their second tour.

“That was uncalled for,” he whispers under his breath, just in case someone is listening in on them.

Jamia grabs him by the waist, ruffles his hair and says, “It’s like Romeo and Juliet. Well, if Juliet was a cross-dresser with a height complex and a shitty job at Pathmark.”

Frank doesn’t want to bicker with Jamia here and now but one thing is sure, he will have his revenge.

He does not have a motherfucking height complex.

*

The girls make Frank’s life a living hell for two weeks after the bout with the Long Island Rebels.

Apparently, they all think Gerard is Frank’s boyfriend; that they have some sort of secret romance going on.

They start calling Frank _Juliet_ during the bouts just to piss him off. It’s working pretty good and Frank wishes he could make them all shut the fuck up. Since he can’t really do that, he uses all of this pent up rage in the skating rink.

“You should totally make out with him,” Punch’n’Julie tells him as they’re driving to a house party after winning another bout. “He could tell us shit we could use against our enemy. You know. Or you could turn him into a double agent.”

“I’m not making out with a guy just to get some insights on another team.” If Frank makes out with Gerard it will be because he wants it. “Besides, that’s ridiculous. We’re not spying on people.”

“I think you should stay away from him anyway,” Jamia says, glaring at Frank using the rearview mirror. “He doesn’t know the real you. He probably buys that whole mute chick act like the rest of them.”

Frank would love to tell Jamia to fuck off and that she’s wrong. But as painful as it is to hear it, Gerard doesn’t know him. Gerard doesn’t like him; not the real him. If he really does like Frank, it’s because he thinks he is this cool girl who listens to punk rock and wears a lot of short skirts.

“Don’t say that. You’re hurting his tiny feelings,” Punch’n’Julie says, wrapping her arms around Frank.

He pushes her away and slides at the other end of the backseat. “Fuck you.” He doesn’t need her pity and he doesn’t need her to come to his rescue.

Jamia parks in front of Ell’on Wheels’ driveway. The party is at her house tonight and a lot of people are already there. Frank even sees Bob’s Jeep parked down the street. He came with Ray to the bout and pretended to be there to support Frank when he was actually there for other, more selfish reasons.

Good thing that Rushin Roulette seems receptive to his awkward flirting. Maybe Bob will stop lurking around the store when Jamia is there.

“He knows I’m right or he’d be fighting me on this. Is that right, Frankie?” Jamia asks as they walk out of the car and make their way up the porch.

Frank stares at his shoes the whole way and whispers, “I won’t make out with him. I can control my urges, you know. Fuck.”

The minute they walk in the house, they’re greeted by the smell of pot and barbecued meat.

Frank wishes he could skip this one. It’s not like this party has any point if he can’t talk to Gerard. It’s going to be the same bullshit as usual. The girls are going to set him up with some drunken guy because they’re obviously way too involved in his love life. Then they’re going to rerun the bout play-by-play and drink way too much.

“Come on,” Jamia says as she pulls Frank through the thickening crowd in the hallway. “You need some booze to feel better.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I was a bitch. You know I love you. I just don’t want you to suffer because of this. Have you seriously never watched any of those stupid rom coms where someone has a terrible secret and it ends in heartbreak when it gets revealed?”

Frank wraps his arm around Jamia’s shoulders and squeezes her tight. He knows what she means. He knows that if anything were to happen with Gerard, it would just complicate things. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with the lies. He wouldn’t be able to be himself around him and that’s just not what Frank wants.

He’d rather keep a safe distance or stay friends if that’s still an option.

*

Frank is hiding behind a tree in Ell’on Wheels’ backyard, listening on the party inside the house when Gerard finds him. He’s not hiding from anyone in particular, just not feeling very chatty tonight which fits his made up persona quite well.

Gerard is staggering a bit, like he probably had a little too much to drink. He drops next to Frank and hits his head on the tree trunk.

“I swear I’m not drunk,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his head and mussing up his hair. “Just dizzy.”

Frank lets out a tiny laugh that Gerard is probably too drunk to catch. He gets his notebook out and writes down, _How much did you have to drink?_

Gerard scrunches up his nose at the note before handing it back to Frank. “Not much. I’m heavily medicated, though. I think alcohol and pills aren’t a good match.”

They’re not alone in the backyard. There’s a couple of kids, drinking beer and laughing very loudly. Frank is watching them from the corner of his eyes when he feels his notepad slipping away from his fingers. He tries to catch it but realizes Gerard is the one prying it away from him.

Gerard opens it to a blank page and starts drawing something. He stops every few seconds to look at Frank and then goes back to his artwork.

When he’s done, a few minutes later, he hands the notepad to Frank and gives him a lopsided grin.

“It’s probably shit but I felt inspired. I hope you don’t mind.”

Frank doesn’t mind. Sometimes, he draws things too but they never end up looking that good; especially not when he’s drunk. Gerard actually made him look pretty. He turned Frank’s disguise into something beautiful, gave him long lashes and hair that curls over his cheeks.

 _I like it_ Frank scribbles in the corner of a page.

“It’s yours.”

The kids leave the patio a couple of minutes later and then it’s just Frank and Gerard, hidden from the rest of the world behind their tree. Someone even turns off the light in the backyard and everything goes black.

Gerard takes Frank’s hand in his without any warning and for once, he remains completely quiet for the longest time. He squeezes Frank’s fingers lightly and leans in to plant a kiss on the corner of Frank’s lips.

It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just a quick, harmless peck but Frank still shivers. His lips part open and chase for Gerard’s for a second.

This could be very dangerous. This could be the end of Frank’s roller derby days. It could also be the end of his friendship with Jamia. He promised her he wouldn’t let this happen.

He pulls away quickly and looks back at Gerard. He can barely make out his face in the dark.

“Can I take you home tonight?” Gerard asks as he slowly pulls his hand away from Frank’s.

Oh. That would be a very bad idea, much like every fucking idea Frank had for the past few weeks.

He grabs his notepad and scribbles a quick answer, _No. Jamia’s my ride._ He hands it to Gerard and waits for his reply.

It takes Gerard a few seconds to find a source of light so he can actually read what Frank wrote. When he does, using the dim light of a street lamp on the other side of the fence, he hands the notepad back to Frank and hooks his chin over Frank’s shoulder.

“I don’t want this to be awkward,” he whispers in Frank’s ear, pushing a lock of hair over Frank’s cheek. “I think you’re great, Frankie.”

Frank sighs and writes down, _I should go now. No awkward. Thanks for the art._ Then he scrambles back to his feet and heads back to the party before he can do something he might regret.

“I’ll see you inside?” Gerard calls after him but Frank has no intention to stay. He doesn’t trust himself around Gerard right now.

*

Frank puts Gerard’s art right above his bed. That way it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning.

Maybe he should be weirded out by the sight of his own face (or Fun Ghoul’s to be more accurate) but it just makes him feel more confident. It gives him strength to deal with his work day because if Fun Ghoul can be badass at what she does, so can Frank.

When he lies down before going to sleep, Frank looks at the drawing and thinks about Gerard.

Gerard is a rad guy. He is interested in all the things Frank likes, even the obscure Hammer films from the seventies that nobody knows. He is smart and talented and draws things for Frank. He gives great massages and has the softest lips.

The one thing that Frank doesn’t like about this whole thing with Gerard is that he feels like an impostor and a piece of shit. He feels like he doesn’t deserve to have Gerard in his life. He doesn’t deserve to kiss him or be his friend because he’s a fucking cheat and a liar.

He’s been lying to Gerard ever since the day they met and Frank isn’t sure there is any way to make things right. It feels like it’s much too late to come clean.

*

Instead of making things right, Frank manages to make them even worse.

It’s not his intention to fuck up when he climbs up Geoff’s stairs and ends up in his library, sprawled on the floor with a copy of The Book Thief and a couple of beer bottles. He’s actually minding his own business and not looking for trouble when Gerard walks in and sits down next to him.

“I knew you’d be here,” he says in a raspy voice as he lies down on the rug and rolls onto his side.

Frank can’t tell him to go away and truthfully, he doesn’t want to. He grabs one of his beer bottles and hands it to Gerard.

“You want me to draw something for you?” Gerard asks before taking a swig from the beer.

Frank shrugs. He wouldn’t mind something new to put up on his wall.

“So. I talked to one of your friend downstairs. She says you don’t have a boyfriend.”

 _Shit._ Frank might need to find out which friend said that so he can kick her ass.

“Or a girlfriend. It would be presumptuous of me to think…I mean. I’m not assuming that… She said you weren’t dating anyone.”

Frank’s not dating anyone. In fact, Frank hasn’t even so much as kissed a guy since that post bout party in New York a month ago. It might not even count since the guy was drunk and they didn’t get to second base.

Of course, the weird kiss he and Gerard shared last week doesn’t count. There was no tongue. _Hell_ , Gerard probably didn’t mean it. He was heavily medicated and drunk.

“Do you think we can smoke inside the house?” Gerard asks after a minute.

Frank nods. The house already smells like stale tobacco and he’s seen a few people downstairs smoking a bowl. They should be alright.

They have to share the cigarette because it’s the last one in Gerard’s pack and Frank forgot his Camels in his regular, dude clothes. They’re hidden at the bottom of his bag under his roller skates somewhere in the backseat of Jamia’s car. Frank is too lazy to go downstairs right now and ask her for the keys.

“I wanna draw something for you.” Gerard lights the cigarette and passes it to Frank. “Actually,” he adds, exhaling a puff of smoke upwards, “I’d like to draw something _on_ you.”

He grabs Frank’s arm and examines it. He pokes at the anchor etched in Frank skin and hums. Then he moves on to Frank’s shoulder and the back of his neck and drags his fingers along the outlines of the pumpkin Frank got done for his birthday a few years ago.

“I like this. You’re wearing your history on your skin,” he mumbles, pressing closer to Frank and sliding his hand down Frank’s side. “Do you have other ones under there?”

It happens just like the kiss under the tree except, this time Frank can see Gerard’s face. He can see Gerard’s eyes and the way they’re focused on Frank’s mouth. There is so much eagerness in his eyes. They’re screaming _WANT_ and _NEED_ so loud that Frank shivers and lets himself go.

He licks his lips and presses them against Gerard’s. He closes his eyes and slips one hand under Gerard’s leather jacket.

They’re all alone in the cramped up library and Frank is pretty sure no one knows where they are. Maybe Jamia won’t lead a search party until she decides to head home. Maybe she and everyone else will forget Frank was even here tonight.

For a moment, Frank fails to remember that he’s supposed to be someone else. He opens his mouth and swirls his tongue around Gerard’s, moaning deep in his throat, his fingers tugging on Gerard’s t-shirt, trying to find skin.

They shift until Frank is half sitting on top of Gerard, their lips never parting for more than a second; not even when Frank thrusts up Gerard’s crotch in a desperate attempt to get the friction he needs.

Gerard is whimpering in Frank’s mouth and caressing the nape of Frank’s neck in a slow, circular motion, when Frank feels the familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach announcing that he’s about to pop a boner.

Usually, he would welcome this during a make out session and just dry hump the shit out of Gerard until they both came, boneless and panting on the floor; but tonight he’s not supposed to pop boners. Girls don’t pop boners because they’re not supposed to have dicks.

By the time he realizes this, his cock is already half hard and trying to pop out of his boxer shorts.

Gerard’s fingers slide down Frank’s neck and under his tank top.

Thankfully, Gerard is not very skilled when it comes to taking a bra off. He struggles for a moment with the hook before voicing his frustration with a groan.

Frank breaks the kiss and stares at Gerard for a second.

His lips are open, red and slick with spit. He is beautiful and he wants Frank. This is unfair. This is also very confusing. Gerard would never want him if Frank wasn’t pretending to be a girl. He wouldn’t be squirming between Frank’s legs, so desperate and needy.

Gerard opens his eyes very slowly and attempts to pull Frank back to him, his fingers curling in Frank’s hair.

“Why did you stop,” he croaks before pressing a light kiss on Frank’s lips. “Something wrong?”

Frank scuttles back to his feet and pulls his skirt down his thighs. Then he races out of the library and down the stairs. He doesn’t have time to apologize to Gerard or to explain things to him. He just wants out of here and out of his Fun Ghoul costume. He wants out of this entire subterfuge.

“Frankie?” Gerard calls.

Frank can hear his footsteps behind him in the stairwell as Gerard is trying to catch up to him.

“Frankie? Are you okay?”

He completely screwed up this time. He should have listened to Jamia. He should have stayed away from Gerard.

*

For a few weeks, Frank pretends Gerard doesn’t exist.

Since being just friends with him doesn’t work, he might as well keep his distance from Gerard. He avoids him at the bouts and goes home instead of partying with his teammates. He also takes more shifts at work, thinking it might actually help him forget that he likes Gerard more than he should.

It works for a little while and after about a week of people constantly asking him how he is, Frank manages to convince everyone that nothing is wrong with him. He convinces them (and himself too) that he’s fine and that he’s not sad or brooding about anything.

Frank has had boyfriends and one night stands. He kissed and fucked and sucked them off all through his senior year of high school and college, but it never felt like this. It never felt like he had a real connection with them because it was mostly just fun, without consequences or remorse. Frank thought he didn’t even believe in remorse until now.

He tries really hard not to rehash what happened with Gerard up in Geoff’s library because it’s pointless but it takes a lot out of him.

That’s why he decides to focus on derby. He spends a lot more time on his skates, training even when he’s not at the rink. When he’s actually at the rink, he helps S’Uzi with her playbook, giving her a few ideas for strategies and then runs through every single one of them with the girls.

Roller derby is the only thing that actually matters to Frank now and it seems to be the only thing that doesn’t need fixing in the mess that is his life.

Jamia is the only one who sees right through him but she doesn’t say anything. She comes over and spends the night at Frank’s more frequently. She doesn’t mention Gerard’s name or doesn’t talk about anything but derby; which is exactly what Frank needs.

She probably does notice how Frank rushes to the locker room after each bout and skates past Gerard without even looking at him.

Frank is getting really good at this game. He doesn’t enjoy it but it feels necessary. Talking to Gerard would just be too painful and Frank would probably end up breaking Gerard’s heart.

Gerard does try to talk to Frank several times. He even follows him to the parking lot one night after a particularly rough training session that leaves Frank bruised and battered.

Frank pretends he didn’t hear him calling his name.

“Frankie, I need to talk to you,” he says just as Frank is rushing to get into his car. “If this is about the kiss, I’m not going to apologize.”

Frank shuts the door and drives away. He knows it’s probably a dick move but he can’t be bothered to try and talk to Gerard now. He’s not even sure what he’d say anyway. He could give him some bullshit excuse about wanting to stay friends but it wouldn’t benefit either of them.

Besides, Frank doesn’t want to stay friends with Gerard.

*

After that night, Gerard seems a little bit less clueless. He still watches Frank during the bouts and, according to S’Uzi, “occasionally shows up at Geoff’s parties, looking bored out of his mind and not even trying to mingle with anyone”.

However, he doesn’t try to talk to Frank anymore.

Frank hates himself for that but it’s not like he has much of a choice.

If it’s a toss between Gerard and Jamia, Frank will always have to go with his best friend.

*

The first bout they lose is against a small team from Brooklyn, the Horror Derby Girls. Frank doesn’t score a lot of points because their star blocker is phenomenal and because he’s a bit distracted by the looks Lyn Zoid keeps on giving him to test this new foolproof play called the Can-opener.

It’s an away bout but most of their regular supporters are here, including Gerard and Lyn Zoid who are both sitting in a corner of the floor section. There’s also a scrawny guy with glasses who looks like he could be related to Gerard, sitting right next to him, leaning against him. Gerard’s mouth is moving as if he was giving the guy a running commentary on everything. Scrawny guy nods once in a while but doesn’t seem too impressed by the spectacle.

Looking even less impressed is Lyn Zoid. She is glaring at Frank like she’s about to get off her seat and kick his ass in the middle of the track.

She probably thinks Frank is a bitch for ignoring Gerard without any fucking explanation. Frank wouldn’t even hold it against her if she did kick his ass.

Once the bout is over, the girls decide as they’re shaking hands with the winning team that the only way to get over such a humiliating defeat is to drink lots of alcohol.

The Horror Derby Girls pick a dive bar that’s right down the corner of the street because it’s kind of their lair and they have a tab there.

They spend most of the night getting the Crash Queens drunk. This overly nice girl called Emarrhage keeps pushing drink after drink under Frank’s nose.

Frank is pretty okay with that – even though she might have ulterior motives since Frank did give her a magnificent, yet accidental shiner when she fell on her ass trying to block him (maybe Frank is just being paranoid but he could swear there is something off with the way this girl smiles at him).

At least he doesn’t have to pay for any of the beers or Jagger bombs he gets to drink. Moreover, the alcohol makes him forget that his team lost and that he has a cut on his lips that will probably go on the injury wall of fame at the home rink.

He also manages to forget that Gerard is here tonight and that Frank has absolutely nowhere to hide from him. He can’t even hide behind Jamia because Pedicone is here tonight, as the sober driver or so he tells everyone who tries to buy him a drink.

When Gerard walks Frank’s way at one point in the night, the scrawny guy at his side, Frank chugs his rum and Coke so it gives him some courage and stays right where he is, bracing himself for the worst.

He’s ready to talk if that’s what Gerard wants but then he remembers he’s not supposed to because he’s mute and that’s when he deflates.

He puts down his empty glass on the bar and starts searching his pockets for his notepad. Even though he didn’t get to talk to Gerard for a few weeks, Frank decided to keep carrying the pad around. Just in case. _In case of what?_ Frank’s isn’t sure. Maybe he just likes keeping it around in his pocket so he can read over some things he said to Gerard.

“Hi, Frankie. I want you to meet my kid brother Mikey,” Gerard says as he plants himself right in front of Frank. He points at the guy with the glasses and ducks his head.

Frank grabs Mikey’s hand and shakes it. He tries to give him a polite smile but ends up burping in his face.

_Fucking beer._

Mikey gives him a huge smile in return, like burping under people’s noses is the most polite form of introduction. “I heard about you a lot,” he mumbles, giving Gerard a knowing look.

 _Fuck._ What did Gerard say about him? Probably that Frank is a fucking bitch.

Frank opens his notepad and writes an approximate, “Nice to meet you.” Then he shoves the pad in Mikey’s hands and turns to look at Gerard.

He still feels like an asshole for taking off in the middle of a pretty fucking amazing make out session but he can’t really imagine Gerard would have been okay with discovering Frank had a penis under his skirt and that his bra was stuffed with tissues.

“Sorry you lost the bout. I thought you were very good,” Gerard says, scratching the back of his head and ruffling his hair.

Maybe it’s the alcohol taking over Frank’s brain or just the fact that Frank doesn’t want to do small talk, but he ends up pressing Gerard against the bar, with his tongue licking at Gerard’s neck and his hand tugging at Gerard’s t-shirt.

It’s not really what Frank had in mind when he saw Gerard today at the bout but he’s very drunk, and who fucking cares if he licks Gerard like a fucking lollipop in the middle of the bar? It’s his tongue and he should be able to shove it anywhere he wants, _dammit._

Tonight is all about having fun and forgetting that they had a shitty day and sucking on Gerard’s neck is exactly what Frank needs right now.

“Jesus, Frankie,” Gerard says as he pulls away and pats Frank’s shoulders. “I think we should go somewhere and talk.”

Frank lets out a frustrated groan and pounces on Gerard. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants to drink and make out with Gerard’s face all night. He deserves a break from trying to be the good guy tonight. He’s been away from Gerard long enough anyway and now, he wants a fucking reward.

“Maybe we should do this another time. When you’re,” Gerard mumbles as he untangles himself off Frank, “when you’re not this fucking hammered.”

He leans over to his brother and whispers something in his ear.

Mikey nods and disappears into the crowd.

“Maybe I should take you home. Mikey can hitch a ride home with Linds,” Gerard says, cupping Frank’s cheek, his fingers cold against Frank’s flushed skin.

 _Jesus._ That feels good.

“Or maybe you could have a drink too,” Ema says before pulling Frank into her arms and handing Gerard a bottle of beer. “It’s on the house if you’re one of Fun Ghoul’s friends.”

Gerard takes the beer but doesn’t drink it. He stares into the bottle for a few seconds before looking up at Ema and giving her an unconvincing, “Thanks.”

Ema is weird and kind of clingy. Frank usually doesn’t mind clingy but tonight, he’d rather be alone so he can get shitfaced.

It’s just that he finds it really hard to retain enough control to pretend he’s a mute chick and it would be better if there weren’t any witness around when he starts singing something from The Bouncing Souls at the top of his lungs or if he needs to call somebody a self-righteous cunt.

“Is he your boyfriend? I think he’s cute,” Ema says, letting go of Frank and shoving another drink in his face.

Frank throws it back since he can’t make out with Gerard like he wants to. He watches as Gerard sips his beer and makes awkward faces. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here.

Getting ridiculously drunk seems to be Frank’s only option tonight since he blew his chances with Gerard when he walked out on him a few weeks ago. So, getting ridiculously drunk is exactly what he intends to do.

*

After that, everything gets a bit hazy and a lot confusing.

Frank remembers trying to kiss Gerard and then puking in the bathroom while Jamia held his hair and Ema cheered on him for no other reason than he has perfect aim and missed puking on the toilet seat. He also remembers talking to Jamia about Gerard and crying on her shoulder before trying to climb out of the bathroom window to escape the party.

When Frank comes back to the bar, his breath smelling like barf, Gerard is nowhere to be found and some girl buys Frank a shot of something that tastes like piss and strawberry.

“I think he went home,” Ell’on Wheels tells him when Frank asks about Gerard to his team mates. “He didn’t look like he was having fun.”

Frank has about two more of the strawberry and piss drinks before deciding he’s done and that he really needs to head home before he does anything too stupid.

But before that, he needs to empty his bladder, and then find Jamia and Pedicone and see if they can drive him back to Belleville.

He doesn’t realize he’s entered the men’s room until he’s relieving himself in one of the urinals, his skirt all the way up his hips. He looks up from his dick, thinking that maybe he should be doing this in the women’s room, hidden in a stall and not in plain sight but it’s fine because no one knows him here.

Then he notices two guys by the sink staring at him. One of them is fixing his hair, making it as disheveled as possible. Frank has to squint at him for at least five seconds before he can actually see his face. It’s Mikey. It’s the same Mikey who is Gerard’s brother.

“So, how long have you been a dude?” Mikey asks, tilting his head back against the wall, his bird-nest hair momentarily covering the rough sketch of a penis.

“Since birth, I think?” Frank replies as he tries to keep his calm. He’s really hoping he’s hallucinating right now and not having this conversation. He tucks himself back in his underwear and pulls his skirt down.

“You forgot your notebook at the bar,” Mikey says, pulling Frank’s pad from his back pocket. He puts it down on the sink and starts walking towards the door. “I thought you might need it.”

Frank doesn’t know what to do at this point. He could go after Mikey and give him some half assed apologies for lying to his brother but that’s probably not the best time or place to do this. Besides, he’s not sober enough to make any kind of sense.

He would rather talk to Gerard about this when he’s not drunk off his ass; give him a good and thorough explanation and hope Gerard will take it. It would be better for everyone involved.

The door flies open and some drunken guy stumbles inside the bathroom, pushing past Mikey. He stares at Frank from head to toe for a few seconds before whipping his dick out of his pants and pissing on his own shoes.

It seems like the perfect time for Frank to go back outside and look for Jamia. He needs to tell her about this.

*

The next morning, Frank wakes up with the worst hangover in his life. His head is throbbing so hard that he has to roll out of bed and crawl down the hallway to the bathroom.

He wishes he was dead at least three times before he’s finally standing up in front of the mirror, dry heaving, his stomach sore. His brain feels like it’s going to run of his nose and down the sink; like all the alcohol he drank last night liquefied his vital organs.

The only thing he wants to do besides dying is to go back to bed and forget last night ever happened. If he hides under his duvet for the rest of the day, maybe things will get better.

Except it’s not really how things work and he knows it.

He takes a long nap and wakes up in the middle of the afternoon, his brain still in a fog. He’s about to go back to sleep when he remembers he has to show up to training in a couple of hours and then he has a long night shift at the store. _Just what he fucking needs._

Today already seems like it’s going to be the longest, worst day of his life but that’s actually an understatement.

It gets even worse when he shows up at the rink half an hour before practice and finds the place empty.

Frank heads back outside, wondering if the girls are taking a smoke break around the corner or talking out on the parking lot, but the only car here besides his own is Jamia’s. None of his other teammates showed up this afternoon. Or maybe they’re just late.

Jamia hooks her horn and beckons Frank to come over.

“You fucked up,” she says when Frank slumps into the passenger seat.

Unless she’s talking about a completely different fuck up, she knows what happened with Mikey last night. Frank remembers flashing his dick at Gerard’s brother in the men’s room. It’s much more humiliating now that he’s sober.

“I fucked up,” Frank repeats.

Jamia lets out a deep mournful sigh and says, “You really, really did.”

“That’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to do this. You know I’m a fucking terrible liar,” he protests. It’s not entirely his fault if this happened. The girls have a part of responsibility too. He could also put some of the blame on the ridiculous amount of alcohol he consumed last night.

 _When in doubt, always blame the booze,_ used to be one of Jamia’s mottos.

“Well, I don’t think you understand how fucked up things are,” she adds, one of her hand flying up to the back of Frank’s head. Her fingers then trail through his hair and Frank forgets that he still has a headache for two whole wonderful seconds.

“How fucked up on a scale of one to ten?” he asks when she pulls her hand away to rest it on the steering wheel.

“A shit storm. You’re kicked off the team and we’re getting suspended for two bouts. We managed to convince the officials to let us off easy. Now we just need to get our shit together and recruit some fresh meat to replace you.”

That is worse than Frank imagined. He never meant for the girls to be in trouble over something this stupid. He just went into the wrong bathroom, for fuck’s sake. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently, someone told on you and it went all the way up to the flat track association officials. They don’t have the best sense of humor. Go figure,” she mumbles with a shrug.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jams. I think it was Gerard’s brother,” he mumbles.

As painful as it is to admit, Mikey is the only one who could have done this. Chances are, Gerard knows too by now. He is probably furious at Frank.

“It’s alright, sweetie. It was fun while it lasted,” Jamia says as she steals Frank’s pack of cigarette from the pocket of his hoodie. “It’s not really your fault anyway. I shouldn’t have pushed you to do this.”

She lights one up and tucks the pack back where she found it before cracking her window open.

“I knew this thing with Gerard would get us in trouble,” she says as she blows the smoke in Frank’s direction.

“It’s not _his_ fault.” Frank doesn’t get why Jamia is just so set on hating Gerard. It’s not like he was the one lying to Frank the entire time. He really should have told him everything instead of avoiding him like a coward.

“I guess not,” she admits, her voice low, almost a murmur.

“I should go,” Frank announces, feeling his shoulders drop in defeat.

Maybe he can catch an extra hour of sleep before heading off to work. Or maybe he should call in sick and stay home for a couple of days.

“You can skate with me if you want. We have the rink to ourselves until 6.”

Frank winces. His body feels like it’s been through a tumbler dryer. His head hurts and his stomach is still sore from all the puking he’s been doing last night and this morning. Besides, he’s not sure he’s in the mood to skate. He’d rather wallow in his self pity for at least a week.

“I should go home and die,” he says, tilting his head back against the headrest and watching as a couple of black dots starts dancing in his line of vision.

“Hungover much?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“That’s because you drank on an empty stomach last night, you dumbass,” Jamia says, punching Frank’s shoulder and making him recoil in his seat. “Look at me. I am feeling awesome today.”

“They only had hot dogs and hamburgers, Jamster. I’d rather fucking starve.” Frank might be a fucking liar and a cheat but he still has principles.

“How about we get some pizza in you now? Pizza is the perfect cure for monster hangovers,” Jamia offers with a crooked smile. “Something with loads of mushrooms.”

She’s right. Pizza is never a bad idea and Frank has about two hours to kill before work. That is, if he decides to show.

“Yeah,” Frank mumbles before discarding his bag with all the gear he won’t get to use again in the backseat. He feels a pang of sadness when he sees Jamia’s roller skates discarded on the floor behind her seat.

How did they manage to fuck everything up so fast?

*

Frank’s phone is full of messages from people he doesn’t even know, most of them angry. There’s a message from Ell’on Wheels that doesn’t qualify as angry because she’s crying and Frank can’t hear anything she’s saying. There’s also a message from Jamia apologizing for putting Frank in this position and inviting him to come over to the rink after work to talk to the girls.

Since he doesn’t want to deal with any of this right now, Frank decides to erase his voicemails, turn off his phone and pretend everything is fine.

He’s not on the roller derby team and that’s okay. At least he doesn’t have to pretend to be Fun Ghoul anymore. It was hard to keep up with the lies and it’s probably for the best that it’s all over now.

He still wants to go out and skate with Jamia but maybe he should wait until things die down a bit; until everything is back to how they were before he joined the Crash Queens.

There is not denying he will miss it. _Fuck._ He already misses the thrill of skating with the pack and it’s only been two days.

What gets to him even more than not being able to skate is that he fucked everything up with Gerard to a spectacular level.

*

Frank didn’t think that Mikey would be responsible for his downfall. He seemed like a really nice dude; not the kind to stir shit with the roller derby association. Frank isn’t even sure how he managed to figure out who to talk to.

The only possible explanation is that the information came to the officials by way of Lyn Zoid.

Come to think of it, she’s the only one who has something to gain from this, although Gerard could have done it just to get back at him.

Without Frank, the Crash Queens are down a skater and don’t have the same chances of winning their upcoming bouts.

“That sounds like something she would do,” Jamia tells him the next day when they’re hanging out at the store, sitting on the floor in the stock room and eating a bag of Doritos Frank _totally paid for_.

Gary is going to fucking kill him if he finds them back there when Frank is supposed to be on restocking duty, but he’s got Ray covering for him for a while. He just needed a break and the stock room is just about the only place he can hide from everything and everyone.

“I knew she was planning something. I saw the way she was looking at you. She wanted you out of the way,” Jamia says with a frown before shoving a handful of chips in her mouth. “I swear I am going to fucking punch her.”

“You don’t have to,” Frank mumbles. “Just give her a little push the next time you have a bout against her team.”

The Crash Queens are actually playing the Peaches N’ Scream in three weeks. Frank wants to be there to see how that goes. He wouldn’t miss this bout for the world because it’s going to be the craziest, bloodiest of all.

Jamia smiles and declares, “Challenge accepted. Do you think your asshat of a manager will mind if I eat this salsa? I’m fucking starving.”

“No. Go ahead.” Frank doesn’t really think Pathmark will mind if they’re missing a jar of salsa. “I think there are some Snickers in this box. You should get a couple of those as well. You know, for dessert.”

Jamia leans in and gives him a wet kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry things turned to shit with Gerard,” she says, twisting the lid of the salsa jar open and plunging a finger inside. “I know it’s my fault and I’m genuinely fucking sorry for making a mess. I might have been a bit of a dick about you and Gerard. I handled the situation like…”

“A dick? I forgive you.”

Jamia sucks the salsa off her finger and shifts until she’s lying across Frank’s lap, her head in the crease of Frank’s thigh. “Do you like him?” she asks, her big brown eyes staring deep into Frank’s.

Frank hates when she does that. It’s like she can read his thoughts. There is no way he can ever lie to her when she does that.

“Yeah,” he admits, letting out a sigh that might make him sound even more pathetic than he actually feels.

“Maybe you should try and talk to him. See if you can work it out.”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Never said that,” she objects before sucking her salsa coated finger in her mouth. “Just thought it was a bad idea for you guys to hook up while you were on the team but as we already established it, I was a dick. Now, I think you guys were cute and you should find out if he still likes you.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” Frank says with a shrug. He can’t really blame Gerard for that. He wouldn’t want to talk to himself either.

*

It’s a Thursday night and Frank is working at the cash register to make a few extra bucks for gig tickets. He feels a little antsy because he’s on his own tonight and anything could happen. He could get robbed or worse.

There’s a security guard making rounds around the aisles every hour or so, but he’s mostly too busy napping in the sun chairs they have in the back with all the garden equipment to do his job. So when Gerard walks into the store around midnight, Frank nearly has a panic attack.

He is pretty sure he never mentioned where he worked to Gerard. Actually, he made sure no one outside of his own team knew he worked at fucking Pathmark. It would have been embarrassing if anyone had showed up and saw he was a dude.

More than just the embarrassment of being exposed for the cheating liar he was, there’s the embarrassment of working at fucking Pathmark. There’s nothing glamorous about that. Frank is pretty sure no one can look good in the butt ugly uniform he has to wear day in and day out.

Gerard walks towards Frank’s register right away, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket and his hair in his face.

He stops in front of Frank and grabs some candy and a can of Dr Pepper from the fridge.

“I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here,” he says, handing the Skittles to Frank instead of putting them on the conveyor belt. His face is closed and his lips pursed. His fingers are cold as they brush over the palm of Frank’s hand.

Frank scans and bags the items but remains quiet. It’s funny because now that he doesn’t have to pretend he can’t talk, he doesn’t have anything to say. Sure, he could apologize but that doesn’t mean Gerard will forgive him for acting like a jerk. Besides, apologies often sound like a bunch of bull.

“I ran into Jamia last night and she told me where you worked. Well, running into isn’t accurate.” Gerard pauses and scratches through his mussed up hair. “She knew where to find me.”

“Okay.”

“Wow. It’s weird. Your voice is not at all what I was expecting,” Gerard says, eyebrow quirked and mouth lopsided. He pauses again, sighs and grabs his bag. “Jamia said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I don’t,” he says, lying through his teeth. He can’t believe Jamia went behind his back. He doesn’t need hers or anyone’s help. He is a fucking grown up and can handle himself. “Here’s your receipt and your change.”

Instead of pocketing his change and taking his fucking receipt, Gerard stands here and stares at Frank. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds, like it physically hurts him to look at Frank and mumbles, “You’re an asshole. You know that, right?”

“So I’ve been told.” Frank deserves this and then some more.

“Do you mind if we step outside for a minute?” Gerard asks, his voice softer than a few seconds ago. “I mean, is this allowed?”

Frank nods. “Sure.” It doesn’t really matter if they do this inside or outside of the store. It’s not like people are lining up at the door to buy shit at midnight. The potheads usually come out at 1 or 2am when they get the munchies.

He jumps off his chair and cranes his neck to see if Rich is doing his rounds or just snoring in the gardening section. He finds him browsing through the hair products, which is ironic, because Rich is bald as a cue ball.

“Gonna grab a smoke, Rich,” he calls out. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Rich just waves at Frank like he doesn’t care.

Maybe switching to the night shift wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It’s much easier to avoid doing any work when Gary isn’t on his fucking back every second. Rich is not the kind of dude who would go to the boss and tell on Frank for not being at his register.

They walk around the store and end up over by the loading docks.

Frank climbs over and sits up on the metal railing. He pats his pocket to see if he actually has any smokes but remembers he left his pack in his jacket, which he forgot at his work post.

It takes Gerard a few minutes to speak up again but when he does, his voice cracks. “I never…” he chews on his lip for a moment, then asks, “Why did you do it?”

Frank could explain the whole thing to Gerard but he’s pretty sure Jamia already filled him on the gory details.

“Why did your friend tell on me?” he asks without really thinking it through. He starts stomping on an old cigarette butt and pulverizes the filter against the concrete.

He’s not mad. Not really anyway. He’s just kind of disappointed that Lyn Zoid decided to ruin his entire fucking existence out of jealousy and petty revenge for something he didn’t do.

Frank looks up and is met by Gerard’s flushed face and his narrow eyes. He looks fucking furious. So much so that Frank wants to take back what he said and have a do-over. He is the biggest idiot alive for dragging Gerard’s friend in this conversation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wanted to tell you myself,” Frank says, jumping down the railing and taking a few steps towards Gerard. “Mikey shouldn’t have said anything. I was going to explain…”

“Well, I’m glad Mikey told me. Now I know how fucking clueless I was.” There is pain in Gerard’s voice. So much pain and there is nothing Frank can do about it. If only he could make everything right again; if only he could touch Gerard.

Frank might not be good at apologies but he can at least try, because he really means it this time. He never meant this to happen. He never meant to make a giant mess and hurt Gerard.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, but I don’t think I can forgive you for lying to my face for fucking weeks, Frankie. You tricked me into liking you and all this time, I thought there was something there,” he says, motioning at the space between them. “It was all fake and I fucking trusted you. I can’t believe I fell for all this bullshit. Guess the joke’s on me. Huh?”

 _It wasn’t fake_ Frank almost whispers as he reaches and grabs Gerard’s wrist. Whatever _it_ was. Frank isn’t even sure at this point. But something stops him from actually saying the words. Is it going to change anything if he speaks up?

As his fingers press against the inside of Gerard’s wrist, Frank can feel Gerard’s pulse. It thumps, hard and fast underneath his skin. Gerard is hot to the touch, like he’s running a fever; fueled on anger alone.

Frank strokes the back of Gerard’s thumb, hopeful it will have some calming effect on him but Gerard takes his hand back and recoils, his back hitting the railing, hard, the metal clinking against the buckle of his jacket.

“Don’t,” he whispers through gritted teeth.

“Gerard.”

“No. You don’t get to do this now. Touching me like this means nothing to you.” He shakes his head and pushes a lock of hair away from his face. “You’re _really_ not who I thought you were and not just because…” His voice breaks. “Fuck. I can’t do this.”

Frank can’t help but think how beautiful Gerard right now, in the artificial light of the neon sign.

His cheeks have so much color. His breath is shaky like he just did a couple of laps around the parking lot and his mouth is open; lips parted and shiny, like they’re waiting to be kissed.

Frank makes another attempt at an approach but stops himself before his fingers quite reach the hand Gerard is clenching against his thigh.

Maybe Frank should let Gerard punch him in the face. It would make them even. It would feel like they’re actually doing something and not just staring at each other, expecting some divine intervention to make their problems go away.

“So, I guess this is it?” Frank asks as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, and he barely manages to keep his tone casual. He stares down at his shoes and tightens his jaw. He needs to get a fucking grip on himself. They were never a _thing_.

“This is it,” Gerard replies. He starts walking back to the parking lot to his lonely, beat up car. Then he stops and turns back to Frank, pausing for the longest time before mumbling, “I think you should know that I always liked you. Whatever your gender. I just think you’re a fucking idiot for not trusting me. I would have kept your your secret safe.”

That doesn’t really help Frank feel any less like a piece of shit. It has quite the opposite effect, in fact.

As he watches Gerard get into his car and drive off into the dim-lit streets, Frank throws a punch at the thick cement wall. Gerard wouldn’t have said anything. That might not be the case with Lyn Zoid.

He stares at his raw and bloody knuckles for a few minutes, feeling numb and small, before shuffling back inside the store. He wishes there was a black hole in the middle of the parking lot that would swallow him and make all this shit go away.

*

Frank is on the floor seats for the next bout because he’s not allowed to sit with the team anymore.

He’s not sure the girls are ever going to forgive him for being an idiot who _literally_ can’t keep it in his pants, but that doesn’t mean he wants to stop being there to watch them kick some ass.

They’re not doing so great by the end of the first quarter and the morale of the team is at its lowest.

Frank wants to go cheer Jamia up a bit before she has to go back on the track when he feels the weight of a hand keeping him down on his chair. He looks over his shoulder, his neck almost snapping because he turns too fast, and Lyn Zoid is sitting right behind him.

Was she there the entire time or did she fucking apparate like in Harry Potter?

The whistle blows and both teams pour back onto the track, Geoff’s voice announcing the second quarter through the loudspeakers. Frank watches them from the corner of his eye before giving Lyn Zoid his full attention, unsure of what his next course of action should be.

“Frankie,” she says, a smile curving the corner of her lips.

She doesn’t look like the devil incarnate or like she might beat up Frank on the spot. Her hand is warm on Frank’s shoulder, her fingers squeezing very lightly. Right now, it’s hard to hate the girl, even out of solidarity for Jamia.

“Hi,” he says, looking over at Jamia to make sure she’s seeing this.

She’s on the bench after getting a penalty over something really stupid; a block she shouldn’t have made but did anyway because she’s pissed off at pretty much everyone today.

Lyn Zoid clears her throat and lets go of Frank’s shoulder. “I know we’re not exactly friends but I just wanted to tell you, I think it’s a shame what happened to you.”

Frank turns to look at her again and sees her sliding at the edge of her seat. Her smile is still there but it looks different, like she’s genuinely feeling sorry for Frank.

“What?”

“I was really looking forward to go against you in there,” she explains, pointing her chin at the track. “You were so fierce. Haven’t seen someone so determined and badass since Ram Jam joined the Queens. It would have been a pleasure to skate against you. You’re pretty damn good at strategy too. I saw how the Queens upped their game when you were around.”

Frank feels so fucking confused. It’s like Lyn Zoid is speaking a made up language.

He frowns, still waiting for the punch line and mumbles a quick, “Thanks,” before turning back to the bout.

Jamia is back on the track and she’s trying to catch up with the pack, shooting curious glances at Frank every other second, which is probably why she’s not as fast as she can or should be.

The Harpy Wallbangers’ jammer is in the lead, prancing around the track, being a snooty bitch, and Frank would want nothing more than to see Jamia elbow her in the face in retribution.

Behind Frank, Lyn Zoid whispers something he doesn’t catch but that sounded like she was calling the snooty jammer a bitch. When he looks over his shoulder, Lyn Zoid is tipping forward, her crimson lips nearing Frank’s ear.

“I can’t believe fucking Emarraghe ruined everything for you. Well, for you and Gerard. That shit really messed him up. I haven’t seen Gee this bad in a long time. He hardly comes out of his house anymore. It’s like he reverted back to his basement hermit era.”

He knows this whole thing messed Gerard up but he doesn’t really understand what Emma Ragey (or whatever her stupid name is) has to do with it.

“I never liked her,” Lyn Zoid adds as she kicks back on her chair and starts watching the bout. “She’s the sneakiest bitch you could find. Telling on you to the WFTDA like that was a low blow.”

“You didn’t…” _Wow._ He sure didn’t see that one coming. Now, he’s an asshole _and_ a clueless dick. That’s a lot to process. “It wasn’t you?”

She shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowed like it’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard. “Of course not. Why would I do something like that? Gerard is my best friend, you know. I would’ve handled that with a lot more tact.”

One of the girls falls in front of Frank and hits his ankle pretty hard with the wheels of her skates. He doesn’t even feel it. He watches her scramble back to her feet and realizes his jaw dropped when she leans in and closes it for him.

“You okay?” she mouths, eyes wide in worry.

Frank nods. He’s okay. He just feels like someone punched him in the chest and all the air went out of him. What if Lyn Zoid is lying? Frank doesn’t know if he should trust her. She could be putting the blame on some random girl. What would be the purpose of that, though?

Soon, it’s half time and the band they got for this double header is setting up on stage. He looks over at the Crash Queens bench and is met with Jamia’s concerned look. She tells her teammates something before skating towards Frank.

“Tell Ram Jam she needs to attack Rita Hateworth on her right side,” Lyn Zoid says behind Frank, a hand pressed to the nape of Frank’s neck. “She has a bad knee. She never puts too much weight on it when she turns.”

By the time Jamia takes a knee in front of Frank and starts pulling the leg of his jeans up to examine his ankle, Lyn Zoid is gone. Maybe she _can apparate_.

“What did she want?” Jamia asks, and all Frank can do is shrug and stare at his swollen ankle.

*

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Gerard asks as he drops a jar of smooth peanut butter in Frank’s hand.

Frank rings him up, pretending he’s not surprised to see Gerard here. The truth is that he is. He’s also a weird mix of nervous and happy and every emotion in between. It’s been a couple of weeks since Frank last saw Gerard by the loading docks but it feels like it’s been longer. It feels like it’s been months.

“If you have time. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

One quick look over his shoulder and Frank sees Gary looming a couple of registers away, helping an elderly lady with faded pink hair put her groceries in her shopping cart, his standard bullshit smile screwed on his lips, his teeth exposed, making him look like a shark.

Since it’s _only_ 10pm, they still have a fair amount of customers but nothing Ray and that new girl Gary just hired (Christa or Clara) can’t handle.

Ray is working the night shift with him later and Gary is going to fuck off any minute now which means Frank will have a lot more time to talk to Gerard.

It’s not like he can walk out of the store for a cigarette break right now but he’s pretty sure the stock room is free and that Gary won’t follow him there. He does seem to have his hands full with the pink haired lady at the moment.

“Follow me,” Frank mutters under his breath, grabbing one of the signs that says the register is closed.

He gives Ray a glance, making sure he has his back in case Gary starts asking questions. Then he leads Gerard across the store, turning to see that he’s actually following him and that, yes, he’s really there.

It’s been a really tough couple of weeks for Frank. The random phone calls stopped but a few girls from local leagues have been leaving Frank other kinds of messages. He has no fucking clue how he’s going to pay to get the penis painted over his car door removed.

Gerard paces around the stock room for a minute, poking at an empty box that used to hold two dozen units of Count Chocula before he finally looks at Frank.

“I realized that I don’t know you at all,” he says, taking a seat on the not so sturdy step ladder Frank always has to use when he’s restocking because the fucking shelves are much too high for him.

Frank sits down next to him on the ground and tucks his hands between his legs.

“Do you even like comics or were you just saying that to get close to me? You did lie about a pretty big thing. What tells me you didn’t lie about everything else too?”

“I didn’t lie about those things.” Frank looks up from his lap and Gerard is hunched over himself, his eyes staring into space.

Gerard shifts and the ladder squeaks under him. “I am still mad at you,” he mumbles, his eyes finally meeting Frank’s. “I can’t believe you lied. And you avoided me instead of talking about it.” He ducks his head again and adds, “I didn’t want to come here tonight.”

“Yeah?”

So why is he here then?

“Yeah. I was gonna stay home but Linds dragged me here. Apparently, she’s on a mission to redeem you. Your friend is on it too. I can’t really picture them working together towards a common goal. That can’t be good.”

“Jamia?” The same Jamia who wanted to punch Lyn Zoid the last time she saw her? Maybe in some weird parallel universe where everything is upside down.

Gerard nods.

“I didn’t want to come back here. I thought we already said everything that needed to be said. I know _I did_.”

Maybe Gerard did say everything he wanted to say but Frank still has a lot on his chest and maybe now is the only chance he’ll have to let it out. “I…”

The door swings open and Ray’s head peeks inside the stock room. “Frank. Better make it snappy. Gary is looking for you.”

“Shit.” _Fucking cockblocking asshole._

Frank gets up and looks down at Gerard. He’s not done. _They’re_ not done. “Can you come over later?” he asks, cautiously optimistic.

Gerard shakes his head and starts walking out. “I can’t. I need to go.”

No. He’s not going anywhere and fuck if Gary wants to fire Frank for having a personal chat during store time. Fuck him and fuck Pathmark.

Frank catches up with Gerard before he’s through the door and pulls him back inside, his fingers tugging at a corner of Gerard’s jacket.

“Listen,” he says, and Gerard stares at Frank’s hand for a second but doesn’t struggle to pull away. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve always liked you too. I feel really stupid for not coming over and talking to you at that party. But then Jamia was there and you were with Lindsey and I just couldn’t. You probably don’t remember but…”

“I remember.”

Frank lets go of Gerard’s jacket, wondering if he should be touching Gerard now or if it’s definitely off the table. He really wants to take Gerard’s hand and it takes all of his will power not to.

“I know that it might not be worth a lot at this point but I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Gerard makes a sound deep in his throat and Frank isn’t sure how he’s supposed to take it.

When he lets Gerard go through the back door so Gary doesn’t see him, Frank has no fucking idea if he will see Gerard ever again but at least, he feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

*

The Crash Queens are playing against the Peaches n’ Scream today and Frank is nervous. He knows Gerard might be in the crowd, but he’s also a bit on edge because it’s the bout Jamia has been waiting for, for weeks if not months.

He gets to the rink a bit late since Bob takes forever to come pick him up. When he shows up in front of Frank’s driveway, he reeks of aftershave and he trimmed his beard. Frank can tell Bob didn’t do this for Frank’s benefit.

When they walk through the door, there are barely any seats left upstairs and none on the floor which is a bummer because Frank likes to feel part of the bout. There’s no better seat than the one where you occasionally get a lapful of skaters. But it’s good that the bout is a full house today.

Bob abandons Frank as soon as they’re inside because he wants to say hi to _Maja_.

Frank laughs when he hears Rushin Roulette’s full name because he’s not used to it and it sounds just so _regal_ for someone who dislocated a girl’s shoulder just last week by throwing her against a wall. To Rushin Roulette’s credit, the girl in question was trying to cut her in line to a gig, which in Frank’s opinion is an appropriate punishment.

The rink is bizarrely quiet as Frank walks around the track to find a tiny spot he can squeeze in. He manages to crouch in a corner, not too far from the Peaches N’ Scream bench, and starts scanning the stands to see if Gerard is there.

When he doesn’t see him anywhere, Frank’s heart sinks. He doesn’t really know what he was expecting. It’s not like Gerard said he’d be here. Frank just has a hard time figuring out why Gerard wouldn’t show when it’s Lyn Zoid’s team playing. Frank would never miss a Crash Queen bout.

The referees take a knee at the center of the rink and Frank waits for the skaters to come out to do a few laps before the bout but no one moves from their respective benches.

Then a few minutes later, S’uzi skates towards the referees and is joined by the Peaches N’ Scream captain, Kitty Fantastico.

There is a long moment of silence and Frank wonders what’s going on. S’Uzi talks with her hands a lot which is something she does when she’s pissed off, and the head referee keeps shaking his head in apparent frustration.

When both S’Uzi and Kitty skate back to their benches about ten minutes later, the referees confer and Geoff joins them.

“We’ve been informed that both teams are forfeiting the bout,” one of the referees says into Geoff’s microphone.

“What?” Why would they do that? It just doesn’t make sense.

The audience remains relatively calm apart from a couple of disgruntled moans. Frank would have expected a riot since all of these people bought tickets to be here today.

Jamia is the first to get up from the bench. She looks around the rink, searching for Frank, and beckons him to get up when she notices him in his tight corner.

“Why are you forfeiting?” he asks as the crowd parts in front of him like the red sea. Frank makes his way to the Crash Queens without having to jump over anyone and stops in front of Jamia.

She takes his hand and drags him along to the bench. She sits Frank down with the rest of the team and grins at him.

“We’re boycotting this bout to protest the WFTDA’s decision,” she finally answers as she starts taking off her elbow pads. “We want you back on the team or we won’t play.”

That’s insane. The girls have been waiting to have a go at the Peaches N’ Scream for the entire season and it would be stupid to forfeit now.

“Don’t do this, Jams,” he says, getting back up on his feet. “You don’t want to do this. I will be okay.”

“But we won’t be. We love skating with you, Frankie,” says S’Uzi with a pointed look. “You’re part of the team and we don’t intend to let you go.”

“Seriously. Thanks…but don’t do this on my account.”

Jamia grabs Frank by the shoulders and whispers, “You should thank Gerard. He pretty much did everything.”

It’s only at this point that Frank looks at the crowd upstairs and notices the signs. _Bring back Fun Ghoul_ some of them say while others bear Fun Ghoul’s number _666_. All these people barely know him but apparently, they all want him to in the team.

“Gerard?”

Was it really his idea? Why would he even do something like this? Frank thought they were still fighting.

“He’s been in talks with the derby association to have you back. The boycott was his idea,” Jamia explains as the crowd starts vacating the premises, a few people stopping by the bench to shake Frank’s hand or pat him in the back.

He gets a few high fives from the Peaches N’ Scream and from a couple of the referees. Then Tom Kill’It comes by to tell Frank that he should keep dressing up in his sexy skirt. He pinches his ass for emphasis while S’Uzi gives Tom a dark, disapproving look.

Both teams then file out of the rink and congregate in the parking lot. Everyone decides to show up to Geoff’s house en masse for an impromptu party which doesn’t seem to bother him all that much.

“I totally underestimated him,” Jamia admits when they’re only a block away from Geoff’s. “I think he’s really into you. No one ever did something that crazy for me.”

“I do crazy things for you all the time,” Pedicone protests from the passenger seat, and Jamia turns to him and gives him a fond smile.

“Like what?”

“Like that time I broke into your ex’s house to get your dog back.”

Jamia puts her hand on Mike’s thigh and nods. “Yeah. That was pretty heroic of you, baby.”

Pedicone grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles before lacing their fingers together.

Frank feels like he shouldn’t be here right now, like he’s intruding on their intimacy. He can’t help but feel a little jealous of what they have.

As soon as they’re inside Geoff’s house, Frank hops up the stairs and bursts into the library. He’s disappointed to see the room is empty. He’d really thought Gerard was going to be there.

He finds Lyn Zoid in the kitchen, raiding Geoff’s fridge with Kitty Fantastico and the Peaches’ coach, Jimmy Urine.

“Is Gerard around tonight?” Frank asks as he shuffles towards the kitchen counter.

Lyn Zoid looks at him over her shoulder, a grin plastered on her face. “No, he’s not. I’m sorry,” she replies, handing Frank a bottle of beer.

Frank takes it and tries to find something to pop the cap open within the mess of empty bottles and plastic cups on the counter, to no avail.

“He hates coming to these. I bet he’s at home watching cartoons and eating cereal right from the box in his pajamas,” Lyn Zoid tells her friends before shaking her head. “That’s his idea of a fun Saturday night.”

Kitty snorts and yanks the beer bottle from Frank. She holds it against the edge of the counter and hits the cap with the heel of her hand until it pops and flies across the kitchen floor.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like being a couch potato once in a while. But I think Gerard redefined the word couch potato. He’s like, the king of potatoes,” Lyn Zoid says and Jimmy follows up with a joke that Frank doesn’t get. Maybe it’s an inside joke.

“I thought...” Frank starts as he takes his beer back and gives Kitty a thankful nod. “He was here a lot. Like, a few weeks ago and—”

Lyn Zoid drops her loot on the counter (a couple more beer bottles, a carton of orange juice, a dozen eggs, a bottle of ketchup and a bag of frozen ground beef – Frank is not really sure what she intends to do with these) and smiles at Frank. “He was only showing up because of you. He knew you’d be here. He’s not exactly subtle when he likes someone.”

“Oh.” _Oh._

Frank considers asking Lyn Zoid for Gerard’s address or for his phone number but decides against it. Instead, he wanders out into the backyard and tries to be social. The awkward talk will have to wait for another time.

*

Frank can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to say and do the next time they cross paths. For the rest of the week, he spends an unhealthy amount of time thinking about Gerard and his lips.It’s probably why he dreams about Gerard’s mouth stretched around his cock almost every night and invariably wakes up with a boner and his sheets wet.

Things at work suck because Rushin Roulette comes by a lot to see Bob, and Frank has to sit through every single one of his smoke break and ignore the wet noises they make not two feet away from him.

Sure. Frank is happy that Bob is finally over Jamia, but he’d rather not have to see him suck face with one of his friends; especially when Frank can’t suck anyone’s face.

Then Gerard is back at Pathmark the following Saturday and things seem to finally be looking up.

He walks into the store merely a couple minutes before Gary has to fuck off home and plants himself in front of Frank’s register, hands in his pockets and hair in front of his face, not even pretending to be a customer.

The timing is far from perfect but Frank will take it.

Gerard opens his mouth to say hi, and Frank jumps down off his chair and leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheeks.

It’s supposed to be a _thank you for organizing a boycott for me_ peck but somehow, he misses Gerard’s cheek by a few inches and ends up kissing Gerard’s mouth instead. As awkward as this is, Frank can’t really make himself stop.

Gerard makes a surprised noise but doesn’t pull away. He just stands there, arms limp at his sides. They do have a few customers around tonight, some of them pushing their carts towards Frank because he’s the only register open; but Frank doesn’t give a shit if they don’t like what they’re seeing.

“Frankie,” Gerard mumbles against Frank’s lips and Frank breaks the kiss, reluctant.

“Sorry. Not what I meant to do.”

“T’s okay. I’m not sure your manager approves though.”

“Gary? Fuck him. He won’t be here much longer,” Frank says as he sits back on his chair and searches for his dickhead of a manager. “If you want, we could hang out when he’s gone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“How about you come pick me up after my shift? I kinda need a ride.”

Ray was supposed to be his ride since Frank’s car is at the shop, but he could give him a call. Ray would surely appreciate not having to drive across town to pick Frank up from work when he can stay in bed and catch up on sleep.

Gary walks by Frank’s register and gives him a dark look. Then he glares at Gerard and shakes his head in disapproval. “There’s a line, Frank. No personal conversations on store time.”

“Certainly,” Frank replies even though he really wants to tell Gary to fuck off before whispering through gritted teeth, “dickbag”.

The line is not even that big, just a couple of people with a few items each. It won’t take him longer than a minute to ring them up and then he’ll be dying of boredom again.

“When do you finish?” Gerard finally asks as he shuffles out of the way to let the next customer through.

“I finish at 6.”

“ _AM_?”

The look on Gerard’s face is so comical that Frank lets out a loud snort. Gerard’s mouth is forming an ‘O’, his forehead creased and his brows furrowed. It’s like he cannot believe people actually work at such ungodly hours.

“Yeah, 6 AM. I’d totally understand if you’d rather stay home and sleep.” _Frank_ would rather stay home and sleep almost every night where he has to work.

Gerard bites on his bottom lip and shakes his head. “No. No. I don’t sleep too well anyway. I’ll be there.”

“I appreciate it.”

Gerard gives him a half smile and retreats back to his car. He turns back to look at Frank through the glass doors every five seconds, which is something Frank shouldn’t have noticed if he was actually paying attention to the dude standing in front of him.

He grabs the AMEX card the guy’s been waving under his nose for fuck knows how long and licks his lips, trying to find Gerard’s taste on them.

Frank can’t wait for his shift to be over.

*

Gerard doesn’t talk much as they’re driving back to Frank’s house. The air inside the car is stuffy and smells like old fries and tobacco. It makes Frank itch for a cigarette.

Frank didn’t really have time to clean his room. He wasn’t expecting any company tonight. After a night shift, Frank is usually too tired to care about the mess.

Instead of flopping into bed and rolling under the duvet like he always does, Frank sits down on the edge of the bed and watches Gerard pace abound the room for a while. He stops to look at the drawing of Fun Ghoul that Frank hung above his bed and his lips crack into a smile.

“You kept that?” he asks, a finger running along the curves of Fun Ghoul’s face and an eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah. It’s pretty badass.”

Gerard shrugs and pulls his hand back from the paper. “It’s not. I could have done better.” He stands in front of Frank’s bed for a few seconds, his arms crossed over his chest, looking uncomfortable.

“Sit down,” Frank says as he pats the duvet next to him.

Gerard seems to ponder the invitation for a moment before sitting on the far edge of Frank’s bed. “Don’t you want to go to bed?” he asks as his eyes trail off to the floor and the comic books Frank discarded there.

Frank hunches over to pick them up and stacks them up on his bedside table. “I’m in bed. I don’t need to go to sleep right away ‘cause I don’t have to work ‘til tomorrow.”

“So, you really like comic books.”

“I told you I didn’t lie about that.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, Gerard’s fingers twitching on his thighs and his eyes inspecting Frank’s room; every single book on the shelf and every picture he pinned to the walls. Frank’s pretty glad he doesn’t have anything too embarrassing lying around, like dirty underwear or the sock he sometimes uses to jerk off.

Gerard shifts on the bed until he’s facing Frank and sighs. “I really hope they let you back into the team.”

“It’s alright, you know? It won’t stop me from skating.”

Frank toes off his shoes and takes off his work shirt, feeling immediately better, like he can finally breathe. He discards the shirt on the floor and starts unzipping his slacks before realizing he shouldn’t do this in front of Gerard.

Frank zips himself back up, wondering if he should just sleep in those terribly uncomfortable work pants or if he could maybe put on his PJs in front of Gerard. Maybe that’d be too weird.

“I can’t skate. I tried a long time ago when I was a kid but it didn’t end well,” Gerard says as he averts his eyes and stares at his feet.

“You should always get back on the horse after a fall. Or some crap like that. The first time I skated, I fell on my ass and dislocated my pelvis,” Frank confesses. He slides up on the bed and sits up, his toes brushing against Gerard’s thigh.

“Are you serious?” Gerard’s voice comes out squeaky and Frank giggles.

The day Frank fell flat on his ass wasn’t one of his finest hours but he got over it.

“Yeah. It fucking hurt like hell but I was back on my skates the next week,” he says, remembering the face his mom made when he limped home with Jamia, his skates in one hand and blood all over his scraped knees.

“Mikey can’t skate either. It’s like, limbs everywhere,” Gerard says, flailing his arms and legs around like he’s mimicking that scene where Bambi tries to skate across an icy pond. Then he cracks up while shifting closer to the head of the bed; closer to Frank.

“Funniest shit ever,” he adds, his eyes watery, a bit breathless.

Frank’s sides hurt and his stomach swoops when he finally settles. It only occurs to him that his mom might have been asleep when he hears a thud in the next room.

He listens carefully, just to make sure she’s not coming over to tell him to keep it down and relaxes when he can only hear silence on the other side of the wall.

“I could teach you,” Frank offers after a few minutes, his voice a whisper.

Gerard wipes the tears off his face and climbs into bed. He lies down next to Frank and whispers, “I’d rather watch you.”

They stay like this for a little while, not talking, just looking at each other while the sun is rising outside, the light changing fast, the shadows shifting on the walls.

Frank can’t sleep. He’s afraid that Gerard is going to go away the second he closes his eyes and he’s not ready for that yet. It feels like they still have so much to talk about; so much to do.

“Did you like being a girl?” Gerard asks, his thumb running up and down Frank’s arm, making Frank’s hair stand and his heart beat a little faster.

He bites into his lower lip and whispers, “It didn’t suck.”

There were a few perks to being a roller derby girl. Like all the free drinks he got after each bout. Wearing a skirt wasn’t all that great at first but Frank totally started to warm up to it. In the end, the only thing Frank didn’t really enjoy about pretending to be a girl was not being able to talk.

“I dressed up as a girl once when I was still in art school. It was this social experiment,” Gerard explains as his fingers slip away from Frank’s arm.

The silence falls again and Frank closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to fall asleep. He just wants to rest his eyes for a minute.

Of course, when he opens them again, feeling even more tired than he was before, he realizes Gerard is gone from his side. His stomach leaps and his breath hitches. It feels like he just woke up from a vivid dream where he was falling. The world around him feels like it could cave in any second and Frank has to hold onto the duvet. He shakes himself awake and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands.

The empty spot Gerard left on the crumpled duvet is still warm, Frank notices when he runs his palm over it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Gerard whispers. He’s still here, sitting at the edge of the bed and shrugging his jacket off.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Frank asks with a yawn.

Gerard shakes his head and crawls back next to Frank. “You want to go back to sleep?”

“No, m’fine,” he lies.

He’s probably doing a terrible job at it because Gerard cups his cheek and brushes a finger over his eyelid. He smiles and says, “You look exhausted.”

Cujo, his mom’s dog, starts barking downstairs and Frank rolls over so he can check his alarm clock on the bedside table. It can’t be right because the red digits say _11.15am_ It didn’t feel like he slept that long.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“It’s almost lunch time.”

Gerard props himself up on one elbow and Frank takes in the mark of the pillow imprinted on the side of his face, running up his cheek like a scar. “Do you want me to go now? I mean, if you want.”

Frank rests a hand on Gerard’s shoulder and says, “No. Just stay, okay?”

“Okay.”

Gerard lies back down and licks his lips. He opens his mouth a couple of times and closes it again.

“Do you want something to eat?” Frank offers, trying to remember if they have anything actually edible in the fridge. “I’ll get us some food when my mom’s off to play bridge with her friends. She shouldn’t be long now.”

Gerard shakes his head. “You still live with your mom?”

“Yeah. It’s only temporary. I got kicked out of my apartment by my roommate but I’m gonna move out soon.” That is, if Frank manages to find a place he can afford that isn’t a fucking closet. “You live with your parents too?” he mumbles, letting out another yawn that makes his jaw click.

“Yeah. It’s just easier for me right now.”

Gerard doesn’t seem to dwell on this so Frank quickly changes the subject and in no time, they’re talking about the Bouncing Souls and how many times Frank managed to see them.

At one point, Frank’s mom starts making some noise downstairs and they just stop talking for a while, Frank listening in and wondering if she’s making him some breakfast or if she’s making all this rattle on purpose, maybe to see if he’s awake.

“Gerard?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still like me?” Frank asks, because seriously, it’s what he’s been really wondering for weeks. “I mean, now that you know me.”

Gerard stares into Frank’s eyes for a few seconds, before mumbling, “Yeah. Possibly more. Do you?”

Frank answers by pressing closer to Gerard and planting a kiss on his chapped lips. They open right away to let Frank’s tongue in while Gerard’s fingers start yanking on Frank’s undershirt.

“Hmmpf,” Frank mumbles. He had forgotten how Gerard tasted, coffee and cigarette with a subtle hint of sugar and morning breath.

He sucks on Gerard’s tongue, sloppy and unrushed, his fingers running up and down Gerard’s neck.

Soon, they’re fumbling for each other’s dicks, panting and moaning in unison, Frank’s feet kicking at the duvet as his legs get tangled up with Gerard’s.

“Jesus,” Gerard lets out in a breath when Frank tugs him out of his jeans. “Jesus, Frankie.”

It feels like Frank has been waiting forever to finally get his hands on Gerard’s dick. When he starts pumping it with his fist, Gerard squirms and arches his back, pushing onto Frank’s grip.

Gerard’s fingers are warm when they find their way into Frank’s boxer shorts. They close around Frank’s dick, Gerard’s thumb flicking over the tip.

“Ow,” Frank mumbles into Gerard’s mouth when his wrist starts hurting.

They both shift, trying to find more comfortable positions, temporary breaking the kiss and losing grip on each other’s dicks. Then Frank finds himself lying with his back to Gerard, Gerard’s hand down his pants and his leg hitched up over Frank’s hip.

The angle is awkward when Frank turns to kiss Gerard but he still manages to catch his lips while Gerard is moving against his back, his dick rubbing against Frank’s pants.

Gerard hisses, as if the friction was just too much for him.

“I better take these off,” Frank whispers against Gerard’s mouth before trying to wriggle his way out of the pants. He can’t have come stains all over these. They’re a bitch to clean and Frank can’t wear anything else to work. It’s fucking store policy.

Gerard is eager to help him. He pulls them down and off Frank’s ankles in one swift move and throws them onto the floor.

Then Gerard’s fingers find Frank’s dick again, while his free hand curls up around Frank’s throat, his thumb caressing the underside of Frank’s jaw.

Frank’s brain is still a little foggy with fatigue but he gets on with the program pretty quick.

He slides a hand behind him, trying to get a good firm grip on Gerard’s dick. He can feel it rubbing against the small of his back, and Frank grabs it with a shaky hand and gives it a squeeze until Gerard groans and presses himself closer, until there’s no air left between them.

Frank pulls out his hand and reaches up, his fingers finding the hem of Gerard’s t-shirt, which he grabs onto with all his might.

Something that doesn’t even resemble words comes out of Gerard’s mouth and then he’s nibbling on Frank’s earlobe, his tongue licking long strips of Frank’s neck, circling around Frank’s scorpion tattoo.

“Taste so good, Frankie.”

Frank can feel it. He’s really close now. His stomach tenses and his toes curl. He fucks Gerard’s fist, his hips rolling at a slow and erratic pace and tilts his head back, hoping to get another taste of Gerard’s tongue.

“Fuck,” Gerard spits out as he tightens his grip on Frank’s dick.

They need to be quiet but it becomes harder and harder, especially when Gerard thrusts up against him faster, his teeth sinking into the ball of Frank’s shoulder.

Frank groans and Gerard slides a couple of fingers into his mouth.

Frank sucks on them and it helps muffle the cry that escapes him as he comes, shivering and panting, spilling over Gerard’s fast fingers and over his duvet.

He rides it out until the end, Gerard’s fist still wrapped around his dick long after he’s done.

It takes him a couple of minutes to regain enough brain function but when he does, Frank untangles himself and pushes Gerard onto his back so he can lie between his knees.

Gerard’s dick tastes tangy as Frank takes it in his mouth, a hand wrapped around the base, his tongue swirling around the tip.

Gerard grabs a handful of Frank’s hair and yanks on it. His hips snap up and Frank has to press a hand on Gerard’s stomach to keep him still while he sucks and swallows around him.

It doesn’t take long before Gerard is babbling incoherently, saying things about Frank’s mouth and how good it feels. Then he’s spilling into Frank’s mouth and down his throat, hot and salty and almost too much for Frank to swallow.

“Fuck,” Gerard mutters under his breath when Frank slowly pulls out, Gerard’s come dripping down his chin.

Frank wipes it with the back of his hand, plants a string of wet kisses in the crook of Gerard’s thigh and crawls up until he can rest his head on Gerard’s chest. He can feel Gerard’s heart pound, Gerard’s breathing is fast and labored.

Gerard pets Frank’s head absently for a while after that, until the sweat on their skins has cooled off and Frank is forced to retrieve the duvet at the foot of the bed and pull it over the both of them.

“So, would you like to skate with me next week?” he asks when Gerard shifts ever so slightly under him, proving that he hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

Gerard hums as a reply and Frank takes it as a yes.

*

Frank doesn’t make it to work that night and has to call in sick. Gary isn’t really happy about it but _fuck him_. Then Frank calls in sick the next day too, coughing to make the excuse more believable, and spends it in bed with Gerard, curled up together, kissing, groping and fucking each other’s mouths like there is no tomorrow.

Gerard has a very skilled mouth and equally skilled fingers, Frank learns during the span of the weekend which is probably why he doesn’t want to let him go.

Frank ignores Ray and Bob’s messages because they’re probably mad at him for skipping work and leaving them to deal with Gary on their own.

So they stay in Frank’s room, ignoring the world. Frank’s mom knocks on his door a couple of times just to make sure he’s not dead and leaves him trays of food outside in the hallway before she leaves for work. She probably thinks he’s sick, which tends to happen a lot. Or maybe she knows. Gerard’s car is still parked right outside and Frank is pretty sure his mom saw that it didn’t move in a couple of days.

They’re tumbling in bed, giggling and thrusting up against each other when Frank gets a message from Jamia. He can see her name flicker on the screen but decides that it can probably wait until he’s not so naked and hard.

Gerard pulls away and mumbles, “You should read it. Could be about roller derby.” He licks up Frank throat and rolls off of him.

Frank groans. He’d rather be fucking Gerard and forget that there are actually other people outside of their little bubble of sex.

He reluctantly grabs his phone from the nightstand and lets out another groan in protest. _Need to talk to you. ASAP. Ray told me you’re skipping work. Everything ok?_ , the message reads.

“I’ll call her later,” Frank says as he chucks the phone back onto the bedside table and climbs on top of Gerard. “I have super important things to do right now. Things that cannot wait.”

“What do you have in mind?” Gerard enquires with a devious grin.

Frank crushes their mouths together and tugs on Gerard’s bottom lip with his teeth. He nibbles on it and teases it with his tongue while Gerard whimpers.

Gerard wraps his hands around Frank’s hips, his fingernails digging into Frank’s damp, slippery skin and Frank can feel how hard he is, Gerard’s dick pressing into the crook of his thigh.

“Wanna fuck you,” Frank lets out in a breath.

Gerard hums his approval and his fingers stray from Frank’s hips to his ass.

It takes Frank less than a second to grab the bottle of lube he’s been using quite generously over the past few weeks for jerking off purposes only (all on Gerard’s account). He also gets a condom from his long forgotten and unused stash and comes back to straddle Gerard.

There is no urgency in Frank’s kisses. He wants to make this as slow and lasting as possible. He hikes Gerard’s legs up on his shoulders and licks the sweat off Gerard’s stomach.

He takes all the time in the world when he pushes a couple of lubed fingers in Gerard, stretching him carefully.

“Fuck me,” Gerard mutters, pushing back on Frank’s fingers, so eager and commanding that it’s kind of ridiculous.

Frank muffles a laugh by biting into Gerard’s thigh. He pulls his fingers out and gives his dick a couple of sharp strokes.

A low moan escapes his throat when he finally slides inside Gerard but it’s no match for the noises Gerard is making when Frank starts fucking him.

When Gerard begs him to go faster, Frank doesn’t comply. He wants this to last forever. He wants to stay inside Gerard and feel him around his dick, so tight, so fucking good and so hot.

In no time, Gerard is hissing and writhing, his voice hoarse as he chants Frank’s name. He tries to wrap a hand around his dick but Frank bats it away. He pins Gerard’s arms back to the headboard, and almost folds him in half when he leans down to lick at his open mouth.

“So goddamn hot,” Gerard groans, his eyes staring into Frank’s with so much intensity that it makes Frank’s stomach tense.

Then Frank is coming with a loud cry, his fingers lacing in with Gerard. He shuts his eyes and rides his orgasm until the end, until his legs become wobbly and his knees give out.

He slumps down on Gerard and plants a slow kiss on his spit slick, swollen lips, squeezing his Gerard’s hands.

Frank’s phone rings just as he’s pulling out of Gerard, his dick over-sensitive and his stomach sore, so completely fucked out that he can’t breathe right.

“Fuck.”

Maybe he should get that. He just needs a few more seconds to get Gerard off. That’s the very least he can do for him after giving him one of the best orgasms in his life.

He manages to kneel between Gerard’s legs again and wraps a hand around Gerard’s leaking dick. He starts fisting it, his palm sliding with ease, smearing Gerard’s pre-come.

“Jesus fuck, Frankie.” Gerard arches up and his legs twitch, almost like he’s trying to throw Frank off of him.

Frank gives him a pointed look and squeezes him just a little harder, making him writhe and moan. Then he decides to punish Gerard and grabs his phone.

“Hey, Frank. Where the fuck are you?” Jamia’s voice asks when he picks up.

“I’m in bed,” he replies, stroking Gerard as fast as he can. He grins down at Gerard because, fuck, this is so amazing.

Gerard presses his lips shut and frowns at Frank, his eyes wide, and it takes Frank so much self control not to laugh. He’s enjoying torturing Gerard way more than he should be but the look on Gerard’s face is the best thing he’s ever seen and so worth it.

“What’s going on?” he asks Jamia as he tugs on Gerard’s dick faster, his fingers a blur of skin and ink.

“The girls and I thought about something you could do for us. Can you come over by the rink tomorrow so we can run it by you?”

Frank doesn’t really know what it’s about, but sure. Why the hell not?

Gerard’s eyes roll back and he bites hard on his bottom lip, stifling a high pitched squeak.

Frank waits to see if Jamia says anything about it so he can lie and say he’s watching TV or some other bullshit, but she doesn’t.

“Sure. I’ll come,” he says, just as Gerard arches up and spills all over Frank’s fingers, hot and thick.

“Great. How are things with Gerard? Did you talk to him?”

Frank gives Gerard’s dick a couple more strokes before letting go and licking the come off his fingers. He’s never going to get tired of this, or of the way Gerard tastes. If he could, he would just blow him again. Just thinking about it makes Frank’s dick twitch and he’s almost hard again by the time he pulls the condom off.

He smirks at Gerard and slumps back on top of him, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah. We talked,” he says, wiping his hand on a used tissue he had stuffed under his pillow. Next, he cups Gerard’s cheek and runs his thumb over his lips, eager to kiss them again.

Gerard remains still and silent while Frank climbs off of him. He doesn’t make a sound when Frank starts nibbling on his shoulder.

Jamia clears her throat and asks, “You guys made up?”

“Hmm.”

“Just hmm? You’re gonna have to do better than this.”

“I’m kinda busy,” he mumbles. He nuzzles at Gerard’s hair and starts drawing circles on Gerard’s chest with his knuckles. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Sure. Are you sure you’re okay, baby? You sound like you just woke up. You’re not sick again, are you? Should I come over with some soup and Nyquil?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you later, love.”

As soon as Jamia hangs up, Frank throws his phone on the bed and giggles.

“You’re an asshole,” Gerard mutters. He pushes Frank’s hand away and attempts to slip out of bed.

Frank wraps his arms around Gerard’s hips and presses himself close. “You’re so fucking pretty when you come,” he purrs in Gerard’s ear, his fingers brushing over Gerard’s stomach.

Gerard seems to relax again and lets Frank pull him back into bed. He gives Frank a sheepish smile and mumbles, “You’re still an asshole.”

“Next time, you get to fuck me. How’s that?”

Frank doesn’t really get his answer because Gerard starts kissing him again, hard and sloppy and so good.

Gerard eventually goes home on Tuesday.

“Can I drive you somewhere later?” he asks as they step outside, the fresh morning air making Frank shiver against Gerard. “Until you get your car back, you know?”

“Yeah. That’d be fucking rad.”

They kiss for about fifteen minutes straight while they’re out on the porch, crab-walking to Gerard’s car and keeping each other warm. Frank has a hard time letting go of his fingers.

*

Frank is a little surprised when he arrives at the rink and sees that the entire roster is here, sitting on the floor and waiting for him. He wasn’t expecting this to be a formal meeting. None of the girls are wearing their gear so this is definitely not a training session.

“What’s going on?” he asks, trying to read Jamia’s expression. She’s not smiling. This can’t be good news.

“Our appeal with the flat track association was rejected,” S’Uzi replies. She gets to her feet and gives Frank a solemn look. “I’m sorry, Frank.”

Frank knew they wouldn’t budge so he’s not really surprised. He’s not even that disappointed either but maybe it’s just because he’s still on a Gerard high.

“Like I told you on the phone,” Jamia says as she scrambles to her feet, “there’s something we need to run by you.”

Jamia and S’Uzi exchange a knowing look – a look that makes an alarm go off in Frank’s brain. The last time they looked at each other that way, he ended up cross-dressing for them and he’s not sure he wants to go through all that again.

He opens his mouth to protest when S’Uzi announces, “We just think you have it in you to be a great coach.”

That’s definitely not what Frank was expecting. Besides, the team already has a coach. He stares at S’Uzi and mutters, “But you’re…”

She interrupts him with a slight of hand. “Frank. You know my place is on the track. I’d rather skate and leave the play book to someone who actually knows their shit. It’s safe to say that we all improved because of you. You’re not just a great skater, you also have great plays.”

Frank doesn’t know what to say to this. It would be false modesty if he said he didn’t notice how much the team had improved while he was with them. He just had ideas and strategies, and the girls always responded to them with enthusiasm.

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head, though,” Jamia says, sliding a hand across his back and tugging him close.

“The job is yours if you want it,” S’Uzi tells him as the rest of the team gets up and forms a huddle around Frank.

He doesn’t need to think about it. He smiles at his team mates and declares, “I want it.”

*

Gerard wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t skate. The second he fumbles his way onto the track, Frank has to catch him and wrap an arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

“I’m here,” Frank says, pressing himself close to Gerard. “I won’t let you fall.”

Gerard gives him a worried smile and mumbles a weak, “I trust you.”

They’re making a slow progression around the rink while the Crash Queens are gearing up for another recruitment day.

Only a couple of girls have showed up this time but at least both of them seem to be able to stand on a pair of skates.

Frank isn’t sure why he agreed to do this anymore but he’s here now and if the girls think he’d make a good coach, then he’s going to try and do a good job.

He’s about to guide Gerard back to the bench and help him out of his protections when one of the fresh meat skates past them like a fucking cannonball and pushes Frank out of her way with a single hip check.

Frank lets go of Gerard’s hand so he doesn’t drag him in his fall but Gerard loses his balance too and they end up on the hardwood floor, winded, Gerard lying on top of Frank in a mess of limbs.

“Are you okay?” Frank asks, reaching up to push a lock of hair from Gerard’s face.

Gerard winces and knees Frank in the balls as he tries to get back on his feet.

The pain is nothing Frank’s can’t handle. It’s a good thing he decided to wear his cup today. He nods quickly and tilts his head back to make sure no one is about to crash into them.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Frankie.”

Gerard slides a hand between them and rubs at Frank’s balls through the cup which Frank can barely feel.

“Get a room,” someone shouts from the bench and Frank gives them the finger. He doesn’t even care who the fuck they are.

Gerard grins and humps Frank’s thigh in another attempt at getting up. “We should probably,” he says, and Frank pushes him off of him, reluctant. He was really starting to like that.

He gets back on his feet and pulls Gerard up. “I’m sorry I let you go,” he says, squeezing Gerard’s fingers.

“T’s not your fault. I’m fucking useless and this girl seems out to get you.”

The girl is question is doing another lap around the track and Frank can’t say he’s not impressed with her. She’s not only fast but she has some serious potential as a blocker. That hip check she did to throw Frank off the track required some serious skills.

“I think she’s just trying to show off to her new coach,” Frank says as they skate back to the side, Frank’s eyes on the new potential star of the Crash Queens. “Just hang on, ok?” he tells Gerard.

Gerard squeezes Frank’s fingers back, harder than necessary but Frank doesn’t really mind. He doesn’t ever want to let go.  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Some Girls are Built for Speed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/461991) by [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan), [dapatty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty)




End file.
